.    '  ^    _    .,  . 


Christ  and  the  Twelve ; 


OR 


Scenes  and    Events 


IN    THE    LIFE    OF 


Our  Saviour  and  His  Apostles, 


As  Painted  by  the  Poets. 


Edited     by     J.     G.     Holland, 

Author  of  "Bitter  Sweet/'  &c. 


PUBLISHED   BY 

Gurdon    Bill    &    Company,    Springfield,    Mass- 
Charles    Bill,    Chicago,    111. 
H.    C.    Johnson,    Cincinnati,    0. 

1867. 


LOAN  STACK 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1867,  by 

GURDON  BILL    &    C0.: 
In  the  District  Court  for  the  District  of  the  State  of  Massachusetts. 


INTRODUCTION. 


IT  is  a  testimony  alike  to  the  superlative  greatness  of  Christianity 
and  the  unerring  truthfulness  of  the  art-instinct,  that,  since  the  birth 
of  the  Saviour  of  Men,  the  greatest  artists  have  found  their  noblest 
inspirations  in  the  sublime  events  and  scenes  that  signalized  the 
advent  of  the  Christian  religion.  The  Annunciation,  the  Virgin 
Mother  and  her  Heaven-begotten  Child,  the  early  Conversation  with  the 
Doctors  in  the  Temple,  the  Miracles,  the  Agony  in  the  Garden,  the 
Crucifixion,  the  Resurrection,  the  Lord's  Supper  and  the  Ascension, 
have  furnished  the  favorite  subjects  of  the  great  painters,  throughout 
all  the  eighteen  centuries  of  Christian  history.  Sculpture  has  also  paid 
its  highest  tributes  to  Christian  themes;  and  architecture  has  honored 
our  holy  religion  by  rearing  for  its  worship  its  grandest  and  most 
graceful  monuments.  Nor  has  poetry  been  behind  its  sisterhood  of 
arts  in  devotion  to  the  divine  truth  and  beauty  it  has  found  in  the 
character  and  mission  of  Jesus,  and  the  heroic  lives  of  his  early  fol 
lowers.  There  is,  indeed,  no  department  of  English  poetry  so  rich 
and  so  extensive  as  that  which  is  properly  denominated  "  sacred.'* 
Within  the  last  few  years,  this  mine  has  been  worked  by  collectors 
and  compilers  with  astonishing  results.  Not  less  than  twenty  vol 
umes  have  recently  been  collected,  in  different  departments  of  sacred 
verse,  that  were  not  intended  for  public  worship ;  while  the  hymnology 
of  the  language  has  been  swelled  by  the  different  sects  to  such  a 
catalogue  that  it  would  seem  to  embrace  the  lyrical  expression  of 
every  phase  of  Christian  doctrine  and  devotional  feeling. 


687 


vi  INTRODUCTION. 

before  us  into  this  rarer  realm,  as  prophets  and  revelators.  They 
see  into  the  heart  of  glories  whose  robes  of  purple  and  pearl  are  only 
faintly  perceived  by  us;  they  weave  into  golden  fabrics  the  scattered 
filaments  of  our  own  emotions  and  apprehensions;  they  pave  with 
precious  stones  a  path  for  our  clumsy  feet  to  tread,  as  they  climb  the 
mount  of  vision;  they  pluck  fruit  from  the  heavenly  hills  with  which 
to  feed  our  starving  imaginations.  To  Experience,  weary  and  sore- 
footed  in  the  straight  path  of  duty,  or  among  the  labyrinths  of  truth 
and  error,  Song  brings  wings  that  bear  it  to  fields  of  exhilaration  or 
repose. 

To  those  who  have  arrived  at  the  point  where  the  poetical  aspect 
of  religion  and  of  those  characters  and  events  which  were  associated 
with  its  birth  and  infancy,  is  alike  a  want  and  a  satisfaction,  is  this 
volume  presented.  The  songs  of  the  best  Christian  singers  are  here. 
Milton,  Keble,  Bowring,  Milman,  Croly,  Montgomery,  Ileber, 
Cowpcr  and  Bonar,  with  a  host  of  lesser  poets,  equal  in  piety,  per 
haps,  though  inferior  in  power,  contribute  their  separate  rills  to  feed 
the  tide  of  song  which  celebrates  the  greatest  events  of  human  his 
tory,  and  honors  the  divinest  personages  and  characters  the  world  has 
known.  Though  distinctly  descriptive  in  their  character,  many  of 
these  poem^,  in  expression  and  influence,  are  devotional.  No  attempt 
has  been  made  to  curtail  any  of  the  poems  because  they  have  in 
many  instances  slid  from  description  into  adoration,  or  risen  from 
contemplation  into  ecstacy,  or  stated  a  fact  for  the  purpose  of  instruc 
tion.  The  editor  has  not  been  restrained  by  a  rigid  design  in  the 
particulars  of  the  book,  content  that  the  collection,  as  a  whole,  con 
tains  the  best  poems  of  the  language  that  could  be  found  to  fill  the 
design ;  and  he  confidently  commends  the  book  to  the  patronage  of 
the  Christian  public.  J.  G.  H. 


VISION  FROM  "  THE  DRAMA  OF  EXILE  ".  .E.  B.  BROWNING.  . . ,  13 

HYMN  TO  THE  SAVIOUR II.  II.  MILMAX 15 

THE  ANNUNCIATION MRS.  HEMANS 18 

BETHLEHEM HORATIUS  BONAR.  . ,  20 

THE  BIRTH-SONG  OF   CHRIST E.  II.  SEARS 21 

CHRISTMAS    HYMN , ALFRED  DOMMETT.  .  23 

CHRISTMAS ROBERT  LOWELL.  ...  25 

THE  NATIVITY THOMAS  CAMPBELL.  .  26 

THE  NATIVITY JOHN  MILTON 28 

THE  HOLY  FAMILY THOMAS  DALE 38 

THE   CIRCUMCISION JOHN  MILTON 41 

THE  OFFERING  OF  THE  MAGI Miss  LANDON 43 

THE  FLIGHT  INTO  EGYPT THOMAS  DALE 45 

IN  THE  TEMPLE REGINALD  HEBER...  48 

CHRIST  EXPOUNDING  THE  LAW THOMAS  DALE 49 

A  VOICE  FROM  THE  DESERT War.  DRUMMOND  ....  51 

THE  BAPTISM  OF  CHRIST N.  P.  WILLIS 52 

THE  VICTORY  IN  THE  WILDERNESS JOHN  MILTON 55 

THE  MARRIAGE  OF  CANA S.  G.  BULFINCH 58 

CHRIST  BY  THE  WELL  OF  SYCHAR GEO.  W.  BETHUNE..  GO 

THE    LEPER X.  P.  WILLIS G2 

THE  GOOD  CENTURION JOHN  KEBLE G8 

THE  WIDOW  OF  NAIN N.  P.  WILLIS 72 

MISSION  OF  JOHN'S  DISCIPLES JOHN  KEBLE 76 

MARY  MAGDALEN Miss  LANDO* 80 

CHRIST  STILLING  THE  TEMPEST MRS.  HEMANS 84 

HEALING  OF  THE  DAUGHTER  OF  JAIRUS .N.  P.  WILLIS.  .  86 


viii  INDEX. 

BLIND  BARTIMEUS H.  W.  LONGFELLOW.     91 

DAUGHTER  OF  HERODIAS FRANCES  S.  OSGOOD  .     93 

BREAD  IN  THE  WILDERNESS L.  H.  SIGOURNEY.  . . .   102 

THE  BOY  WITH  THE  FIVE  LOAVES LYRA  INNOCENTIUM.  .   105 

WALKING  ON  THE  SEA NATII'L  HAWTHORNE.   108 

THE  DEAF  AND  DUMB . .  JOHN  KEELE 110 

THE  WOMAN  TAKEN  IN  ADULTERY HENRY  W.  HERBERT.   113 

THE  TEN  LEPERS JOHN  KEBLE 117 

LAZARUS  AND   MARY N.  P.  WILLIS 120 

CHRIST  ON  TABOR FROM  THE  GERMAN.  .   127 

TEACHING  HUMILITY JOHN  KEBLE 129 

ENTRANCE  INTO  JERUSALEM N.  P.  WILLIS 132 

WEEPING  OVER  THE  CITY JOHN  KEBLE 135 

THE  TRIUMPH GEORGE  CROLY 138 

TEACHING  THE  PEOPLE JOHN  BOWRING 140 

TIEE  LAST   SUPPER L.  II.  SIGOURNEY.  . .   141 

THE  LAST  HYMN JOHN  PIERPONT 144 

SCENE  IN  GETHSEMANE N.  P.  WILLIS 146 

GETHSEMANE RAY  PALMER 143 

THE  AGONY. ANONYMOUS 150 

DEFECTION  OF  THE  DISCIPLES L.  II.  SIGOURNEY...   152 

THE  REMORSE  OF  JUDAS L.  E.  LANDON 154 

THE  CROWN  OF  THORNS L.  E.  LANDON 156 

THE  HIGHWAY  TO   CALVARIE SAMUEL  ROWLANDS.   159 

VIA  DOLOROSA RAY  PALMER 166 

"WEEP  NOT  FOR  ME" DR.  MAGINN 1G8 

BEARING  THE  CROSS MRS.  HEMANS 171 

THE  PASSION   OF  CHRIST FRANCIS  DAVIDSON..  173 

THE  WINE  AND  MYRRH JOHN  KEBLE 175 

THE  CRUCIFIXION LYRA   CATIIOLICA.  . .   178 

IT  IS  FINISHED HORATIUS  BONAR...   180 

IT  IS  FINISHED BERNARD  BARTON...   181 

JESUS,  OUR  LOVE,  IS  CRUCIFIED FABER 184 

"HE  SAVED  OTHERS" JOHN  KEBLE 185 

HYMN  TO  CHRIST  ON  THE  CROSS ST.  BERNARD 187 

WHO  IS  HE? ILILMiLMAN 190 

HIS  OWN  RECEIVED  HIM  NOT..  ..HORATIUS  BONAR...   192 


INDEX.  IX 

MARY  AT  THE   CROSS STABAT   MATRE 195 

THE  PASSION GEORGE   CROLY 198 

THE  STAR  OF  CALVARY HAWTHORNE 203 

THE  BURIAL JOHN  KEBLE 20G 

THE  DIRGE JOHN  MILTON 203 

THE  WOMEN  OF  JERUSALEM MRS.  HEMANS 211 

MARY  AT  THE  SEPULCHRE I.  HDNKINSON 213 

THE  LOVE  OF  MARY THOMAS  DALI: 215 

THE  RESURRECTION MITCHELL 217 

HE  IS  RISEN HORATITJS   BONAR.  . .   220 

THE  WALK  TO  EMMAUS THOMAS  RAFFLES  ...   223 

MEETING  OF  THE  DISCIPLES WILLIAMS 226 

INCREDULITY  OF  THOMAS L.  E.  LANDON 227 

THE  FISHERMEN  OF  TIBERIAS HENRY  B.  HIRST.  ...  231 

LOVEST  THOU  ME  ? JAS.  MONTGOMERY.  . .  234 

THE   RESURRECTION JOHN  KEBLE 235 

THE  CLOUDS WM.  CROSWELL 238 

THE  ASCENSION WM.  DRUMMOND 240 

ASCENDED  INTO  HEAVEN EGERTON  BRYDGES.  .  244 

THE  DEAD  PAN E.  B.  BROWNING 246 

THE   PENTECOST JOHN  KEBLE 250 

CHARACTERS  OF  THE  DISCIPLES ROSCOE'S  KLOPSTOCK  254 

OUR  SAVIOUR'S  PRAYERS JAS.  MONTGOMERY.  .  270 

JERUSALEM VIANGO   MONTI 274 

RESTORATION  OF  ISRAEL GEORGE    CROLY 280 

THE  SAVIOUR'S  SECOND  COMING H.  H.  MILMAN 283 

A  LITANY ROBERT   GRANT 285 

PALESTINE J.  G.  WHITTIER.  .-. .   287 

THE  FIRST  AND  SECOND   COMING REGINALD  HEBER,..  290 

THE  VOICE  IN  THE  WILDERNESS C.  H.  JOHNSON 294 

THE  WAY  OF  LIFE J.  R.  LOWELL 305 

THE  TRUE  BROTHERLY  LOVE JOHN  KEBLE 306 

INFANT   ST.  JOHN H.  F.  GOULD 309 

NATHANAEL JOHN  KEBLE 311 

JACOB'S   WELL J.  F.  CLARKE 315 

THE  MIRACULOUS  DRAUGHT C.  EAST 317 

THE  POOL  OF  BETHESDA..  ..BERNARD  BARTON...  319 


x  INDEX. 

BETIIESDA BERNARD  BARTON...  322 

CHRIST  IN  THE  STORM R.  BROAVN 324 

LITTLE  CHILDREN  BLESSED C.HUNTINGDON 327 

THE  RULER'S  FAITH L.  II.  SIGOURNEY.  . .  330 

THE  TRANSFIGURATION JOHN  NORRIS 333 

THE  BLIND  RESTORED  TO  SIGHT JOHN  H.  BRYANT....  335 

RAISING  OF  LAZARUS ANONYMOUS 337 

ENTRY  INTO  JERUSALEM ANONYMOUS 340 

THE  WIDOW'S  MITE L.  E.  LANDON 342 

WHO  GAZES  FROM  OLIVET W.  B.  TAPPAN 344 

MARY'S   MEMORIAL FELICIA  HEMANS 346 

BLESSING  THE  BREAD THOMAS  DALE 347 

INVOCATION ROBERT  HERRICK.  . .  349 

THE  PEACE  OF   GOD W.  G.  CLARKE 351 

THE  PRAYER  OF  JESUS W.  B.  TAPPAN 354 

SLEEPING  FOR  SORROW J.  K.  MITCHELL 356 

CHRIST'S  LOOK  TO  PETER E.  B.  BARRETT 359 

THE  SABBATH  EVENING  WALK WILLIAM  COWPER.  . .  361 

CHRIST  APPEARING  TO  HIS  DISCIPLES. .  JOHN  KEBLE 363 

UNBELIEVING  THOMAS THOMAS   DALE 365 

DIVINE  LOVE JOHN   BOWRING 367 

CHRIST  OUR  REDEEMER GEO.  GASCOIGNE  ....   370 

THE  LORD  MY  SHEPHERD FRANCIS  DAVIDSON  . .   372 

HYMN  AT  THE  HOLY  SEPULCHRE GEORGE  LANDYS.  . . .   374 

LOVEST  THOU  ME  ? JULIAN  CRAMER 375 

THE  FOLLOWERS  OF  CHRIST REGINALD   HEBER...  377 

THE  LAST  COMMAND ANONYMOUS 379 

WHAT  SHALL  THIS  MAN  DO  ? JOHN  KEBLE 381 

THE  CHRISTIAN  SABBATH ANONYMOUS 383 

THE  GIFT  OF  TONGUES CHARLES  JENNER.  ...  385 

THE  CALL  OF  THE  GENTILES SPENCER  MADAN....  393 

THE  THREE  TABERNACLES HERBERT  KNOWLES..  397 

THE  LAME  MAN  HEALED S.D.PATTERSON....  400 

CHRISTIAN  OBEDIENCE SAMUEL   HAYES 404 

THE  DEATH  OF  STEPHEN WM.  CROSWELL 407 

THE  DENIAL B.  MUEXTA 40g 

ST.  PETER RICHARD  CRASHAW.  .  409 


INDEX.  XI 

ST.  PAUL ROSCOE 410 

CONVERSION   OF  ST.  PAUL JOHN  KEBLE 411 

TEACHING  OF  ST.  PAUL JOHN  LETTICE 415 

THE  GOSPEL   TRIAD GEORGE  BURGESS...  .  419 

PURE   RELIGION CARLOS  WILCOX 421 

ST.  PETER'S  RELEASE JOHN  KEBLE 424 

PAUL  AND  BARNABAS  AT  LYSTRA CHARLES   HOYLE....  428 

PAUL  AND  SILAS  AT  PHILLIPPI JOHN  PIERPONT 434 

PAUL  PREACHING  AT  ATHENS ANN  C.  LYNCH 436 

PAUL  PREACHING  THE  RESURRECTION.. WILLIAM  BOLLAND..  439 

PAUL  BEFORE  AGRIPPA L.  H.  SIGODRNEY.  . .  442 

MIRACLES WILLIAM  BOLLAND.  .  444 

CHRISTIAN   WARFARE C.  ELIZABETH 446 

THE  SONG  OF  THE  REDEEMED HENRY  ALFORD 448 

THE  GOSPEL  OF  'PEACE JOHN  BOWRING 451 

CHARITY WILLIAM  PETER 453 

THE  POOR J.  G.  PERCIVAL 455 

PEACE  IN  BELIEVING II.  F.  GOULD 457 

BLESSED  ARE  THE  DEAD H.  W.  LONGFELLOW.  460 

OF  MANY  MARTYRS BREVIARY 462 

ST.  ANDREW  AND  HIS  CROSS JOHN  KEBLE 464 

FISHERS  OF  MEN A.  A.  PROCTOR ,67 

BATHING LYRA  INNOCENTIUM.  .  469 

THE  SONS  OF  ZEBEDEE MANT 472 

RELICS  AND  MEMORIALS JOHN  KEBLE 473 

JUDAS GILES  FLETCHER 475 

THE  MISSION  OF  THE  WORD W.  L.  BOWLES 477 

THE  CHARMER H.  B.  STOWE 478 

CHRIST  UNCHANGING 480 

I  SHALL  BE   SATISFIED , 481 

BETHLEHEM   AND   GOLGOTHA RUCKERT 483 

WHO  COMETH  FROM  EDOM JOHN  NORRIS 487 

THE  SISTER  OF  LAZARUS S.  D    PATTERSON  .     491 

THE  LEGEND  OF  MARY  MAGDALEN C.  DONALD  McLoRD    493 

THE  WOMAN  OF  SAMARIA THOMAS  G    SPEAR  . .  496 

THE  BETTER  LAND..  ..F.  HEMANS 499 


List 


I  AM  THE  VINE,  YE  ARE  THE  BRANCHES. 

THE  HOLY  FAMILY. 

JESUS  STILLING  THE  TEMPEST. 

CHRIST  HEALING  THE  DAUGHTER  OF  JAIRUS. 

CHRIST  WEEPING  OVER  JERUSALEM. 

CHRIST  WALKING  ON  THE  SEA. 


Hisitw  fmm  ths  "Bmma  txf 


CHRIST. 

THEN  in  the  noon  of  time,  shall  one  from  heaven, 
An  angel  fresh  from  looking  upon  God, 
Descend  before  a  woman,  blessing  her 
With  perfect  benediction  of  pure  love, 
For  all  the  world  in  all  its  elements  ; 
For  all  the  creatures  of  earth,  air,  and  sea  ; 
For  all  men  in  the  body  and  in  the  soul, 
Unto  all  ends  of  glory  and  sanctity. 

EVE. 

0  pale  pathetic  Christ  —  I  worship  thee  ! 

1  thank  thee  for  that  woman  ! 

CHRIST. 

For,  at  last, 

I,  wrapping  round  me  your  humanity, 
Which,  being  sustained,  shall  neither  break  nor  burn 
Beneath  the  fire  of  Godhead,  will  tread  earth 
And  ransom  you  and  it,  and  set  strong  peace 
Betwixt  you  and  his  creatures.     With  my  pangs 


13 


14          VISION     FROM     THE     "DRAMA     OF     EXILE." 

I  will  confront  your  sins.     And  since  your  sins 

Have  sunken  to  all  nature's  heart  from  yours, 

The  tears  of  my  clean  soul  shall  follow  them, 

And  set  a  holy  passion  to  work  clear 

Absolute  consecration.     In  my  brow 

Of  kingly  whiteness  shall  be  crowned  anew 

Your  discrowned  human  nature.     Look  on  me ! 

As  I  shall  be  uplifted  on  a  cross 

In  darkness  of  eclipse,  and  anguish  dread, 

So  shall  I  lift  up  in  my  pierced  hands— 

Not  into  dark  but  light — not  unto  death 

But  life— beyond  the  reach  of  guilt  and  grief— 

The  whole  creation.     Henceforth  in  my  name 

Take  courage,  0  thou  woman, — man,  take  hope ! 

Your  graves  shall  be  as  smooth  as  Eden's  sward 

Beneath  the  steps  of  your  prospective  thoughts ; 

And  one  step  past  them,  a  new  Eden  gate 

Shall  open  on  a  hinge  of  harmony, 

And  let  you  through  to  mercy. 

Elizabeth  Barrett  browning. 


CHRIST  AND  THE  TWELVE. 


Mtmm  txx  tto 

I   U 


OH  !  Thou  didst  die  for  me,  tliou  Son  of  God  ! 

By  thee  the  throbbing  flesh  of  man  was  worn  ; 
Thy  naked  feet  the  thorns  of  sorrow  trod, 
And  tempests  beat  thy  houseless  head  forlorn. 
Thou,  that  wert  wont  to  stand 
Alone  on  God's  right  hand, 
Before  the  ages  were,  the  Eternal,  eldest  born. 

Thy  birthright  in  the  world  was  pain  and  grief, 

Thy  love's  return  ingratitude  and  hate  ; 
The  limbs  thou  healedst  brought  thee  no  relief, 
The  eyes  thou  openedst  calmly  view'd  thy  fate  ; 
Thou  that  wert  wont  to  dwell 
In  peace,  tongue  can  not  tell, 
No  Heart  conceive  the  bliss  of  thy  celestial  state. 

15 


16  HYMN   TO   THE   SAVIOUR. 

They  dragged  thee  to  the  Roman's  solemn  hall, 

Where  the  proud  judge  in  purple  splendor  sate; 
Thou  stood' st  a  meek  and  patient  criminal, 
Thy  doom  of  death  from  human  lips  to  wait ; 
Whose  throne  shall  be  the  world 
In  final  ruin  hurl'd, 
With  all  mankind  to  hear  their  everlasting  fate. 


Thou  wert  alone  in  that  fierce  multitude, 

When  "Crucify  him ! "  yelled  the  general  shout ; 
No  hand  to  guard  thee  'mid  those  insults  rude, 
Nor  lips  to  bless  thee  in  that  frantic  rout ; 
Whose  lightest  whisper'd  word 
The  Seraphim  had  heard, 
And  adamantine  arms  from  all  tl*e  heavens  broke  out. 


They  bound  thy  temples  with  the  twisted  thorn, 
Thy  bruised  feet  went  languid  on  with  pain  ; 
The  blood  from  all  thy  flesh  with  scourges  torn, 
Deepen'd  thy  robe  of  mockery's  crimson  grain  ; 
Whose  native  vesture  bright 
Was  the  unapproached  light, 
The  sandal  of  whose  feet  the  rapid  hurricane. 


They  smote  thy  cheek  with  many  a  ruthless  palm, 

With  the  cold  spear  thy  shuddering  side  they  pierced  ; 

The  draught  of  bitterest  gall  was  all  the  balm 

Thetr  gave  t'  enhance  thy  unslaked,  burning  thirst ; 


HYMN  TO  THE  SAVIOUR.  17 

Thou,  at  whose  words  of  peace 
Did  pain  and  anguish  cease, 
And  the  long-buried  dead  their  bonds  of  slumber  burst. 


Low  bow'd  thy  head  convulsed,  and  droop'd  in  death, 

Thy  voice  sent  forth  a  sad  and  wailing  cry  ; 
Slow  struggled  from  thy  breast  the  parting  breath, 
And  every  limb  was  wrung  with  agony. 
That  head,  whose  vail-less  blaze 
FilFd  angels  with  amaze, 
When  at  that  voice  sprang  forth  the  rolling  suns  on  high. 


And  thou  wert  laid  within  the  narrow  tomb, 

Thy  clay-cold  limbs  with  shrouding  grave-clothes  bound  ; 
The  sealed  stone  confirmed  thy  mortal  doom, 
Lone  watchmen  walked  thy  desert  burial  ground, 
Whom  heaven  could  not  contain, 
Nor  th'  immeasurable  plain 
Of  vast  Infinity  enclose  our  circle  round. 


For  us,  for  us,  thou  didst  endure  the  pain, 

And  thy  meek  spirit  bow'd  iteelf  to  shame, 
To  wash  our  souls  from  sin's  infecting  stain, 
T'  avert  the  Father's  wrathful  vengeance  flame ; 
Thou,  that  couldst  nothing  win 
By  saving  worlds  from  sin, 
Nor  aught  of  glory  add  to  thy  all-glorious  name. 

2  H.  H.  MUman. 


SCENES 


LN 


THE  LIFE  OF  THE  SAVIOUR. 


The 


And  the  angel  came  in  unto  her,  and  said,  "  Hail,  thou  that  art  highly  favored, 
the  Lord  is  with  thce :  blessed  art  thou  among  women."  LUKE  i,  28. 

Lo WLIEST  of  women,  and  most  glorified  ! 

In  thy  still  beauty  sitting  calm  and  lone, 
A  brightness  round  thee  grew — and  by  thy  side, 

Kindling  the  air,  a  form  etherial  shone, 

Solemn,  yet  breathing  gladness. — From  her  throne 
A  queen  had  risen  with  more  imperial  eye, 
A  stately  prophetess  of  victory 

Prom  her  proud  lyre  had  struck  a  tempest's  tone, 
For  such  high  tidings  as  to  thee  were  brought, 

Chosen  of  Heaven !  that  hour : — but  thou,  0  thou  ! 
E'en  as  a  flower  with  gracious  rains  o'erfraught 

Thy  virgin  head  beneath  its  crown  didst  bow, 

18 


THE  ANNUNCIATION.  19 

And  take  to  thy  meek  breast  th'  all-holy  word, 
And  own  thyself  the  handmaid  of  the  Lord. 
Yet  as  a  sun-burst  flushing  mountain  snow, 

Fell  the  celestial  touch  of  fire  ere  long 
On  the  pale  stillness  of  thy  thoughtful  brow, 
And  thy  calm  spirit  lighten'd  into  song. 
Unconsciously,  perchance,  yet  free  and  strong 
Flow'd  the  majestic  joy  of  tuneful  words, 

Which  living  harps  the  choirs  of  heaven  among 
Might  well  have  link'd  with  their  divinest  chords. 
Full  many  a  strain,  borne  far  on  glory's  blast, 
Shall  leave,  where  once  its  haughty  music  pass'd, 

No  more  to  memory  than  a  reed's  faint  sigh ; 
While  thine,  0  childlike  virgin !  through  all  time 
Shall  send  its  fervent  breath  o'er  every  clime, 
Being  of  God,  and  therefore  not  to  die. 

Felicia  D.  Remans. 


THEY  speak  to  me  of  princely  Tyre, 

That  old  Phoenician  gem, 
Great  Sidon's  daughter  of  the  North ; 

But  I  will  speak  of  Bethlehem. 

They  speak  of  Rome  and  Babylon,— 

What  can  compare  with  them  ? 
So  let  them  praise  their  pride  and  pomp ; 

But  I  will  speak  of  Bethlehem. 

They  praise  the  hundred-gated  Thebes, 

Old  Mizraim's  diadem, 
The  city  of  the  sand-girt  Nile ; 

But  I  will  speak  of  Bethlehem. 

They  speak  of  Athens,  star  of  Greece, 
Her  hill  of  Mars,  her  Academe  ; 

Ilaunts  of  old  wisdom  and  fair  art ; 
Bnt  I  will  speak  of  Bethlehem. 

Dear  city,  where  heaven  met  with  earth, 
Whence  sprang  the  rod  from  Jesse's  stem, 

Whence  Jacob's  star  first  shone  ; — of  thee 
I'll  speak,  0  happy  Bethlehem  ! 


Horatim  Bonar. 

20 


xrf 


CALM  on  the  listening  ear  of  night 
Come  Heaven's  melodius  strains, 

Where  wild  Judea  stretches  far 
O'er  silver-mantled  plains. 

Celestial  choirs  from  courts  above 

Shed  sacred  glories  there, 
And  angels,  with  their  sparkling  lyres, 

Make  music  in  the  air. 

The  answering  hills  of  Palestine 

Send  back  the  glad  reply  ; 
And  greet  from  all  their  holy  heights 

The  Day-Spring  from  on  high. 

O'er  the  blue  depths  of  Galilee 
There  comes  a  holier  calm  ; 

And  Sharon  waves,  in  solemn  praise, 
Her  silent  groves  of  palm. 

"  Glory  to  God  !  "  the  sounding  skies 
Loud  with  their  anthems  ring  ; 

"  Peace  to  the  earth,  good  will  to  men, 
From  Heaven's  eternal  King." 


21 


22  THE     BIRTH-SONG     OF     CHRIST. 

Light  on  thy  hills  Jerusalem : 

The  Saviour  now  is  born, 
And  bright  on  Bethlehem's  joyous  plains 

Breaks  the  first  Christmas  morn. 


E.  H.  Sears. 


Christmas 


IT  was  the  calm  and  silent  night  ! 

Seven  hundred  years  and  fifty-three 
Had  Rome  been  growing  up  to  might, 

And  now  was  queen  of  land  and  sea  ; 
No  sound  was  heard  of  clashing  wars, 

Peace  brooded  o'er  the  hushed  domain  ; 
Apollo,  Pallas,  Jove  and  Mars 

Held  undisturbed  their  ancient  reign, 
In  the  solemn  midnight, 
Centuries  ago  ! 

'Twas  in  the  calm  and  silent  night! 

The  Senator  of  Haughty  Rome 
Impatient  urged  his  chariot's  flight, 

From  lordly  revel  rolling  home. 
Triumphal  arches,  gleaming,  swell 

His  breast  with  thoughts  of  boundless  sway  ; 
What  recked  the  Roman  what  befel 

A  paltry  province  far  away, 
In  the  solemn  midnight, 
Centuiies  ago  ! 

Within  that  province  far  away, 

Went  plodding  home  a  weary  boor  ; 

A  streak  of  light  before  him  lay, 

Fallen  through  a  half-shut  stable-door 


24  A     CHRISTMAS     HYMN. 

Across  his  path.    He  passed ;  for  naught 

Told  what  was  going  on  within. 
How  keen  the  stars  !  his  only  thought : 
The  air,  how  cold,  and  calm,  and  thin ! 
In  the  solemn  midnight, 
Centuries  ago ! 

0  strange  indifference !— low  and  high 

Drowsed  over  common  joys  and  cares  ; 
The  earth  was  still,  but  knew  not  why  ; 

The  world  was  listening  unawares. 
How  calm  a  moment  may  precede 

One  that  shall  thrill  the  world  forever ! 
To  that  still  moment  none  would  heed 

Man's  doom  was  linked,  no  more  to  sever, 
In  the  solemn  midnight, 
Centuries  ago ! 

It  is  the  calm  and  silent  night ! 

A  thousand  bells  ring  out,  and  throw 
Their  joyous  peals  abroad,  and  smite 

The  darkness — charmed  and  holy  now  ! 
The  night  that  erst  no  name  had  worn, 

To  it  a  happy  name  is  given  ; 
For  in  that  stable  lay,  new-born, 

The  peaceful  prince  of  earth  and  heaven, 
In  the  solemn  midnight, 

Centuries  ago ! 

Alfred  Dommett. 


CAROL  Christians !  Christ  is  here ! 
Carol  for  this  baby  dear  ! 
This  is  man,  but  God,  the  more ; 
Sing  beside  the  stable  door  ! 

This,  our  King  without  a  crown, 
In  a  manger  is  laid  down, 
When  the  maid  with  meekest  hands, 
Wrapped  him  all  in  swathing  bands. 

Ages  long  ago  He  came, 
Lived  and  died,  yet  is  the  same  : 
He  who  slain  ere  things  were  made 
In  this  stall  a  babe  is  laid ! 

Sing  good  Christians  !     Come  and  sing ! 
Praise  our  Christ,  and  praise  our  King ! 
Gladdest  night !     Most  happy  morn  ! 
Christ  our  Lord  this  day  is  born ! 

Sing  our  best,  both  young  and  old ! 
Never  heart  this  time  be  cold ! 
Never  eye  of  love  be  dim  ! 
Who  love  others,  they  love  him. 

Robert  Loivell. 


The 


WHEN  Jordan  hushed  his  waters  still, 

And  silence  slept  on  Zion's  hill ; 

When  Bethlehem's  shepherds  through  the  night 

Watched  o'er  their  flocks  by  starry  light, — 

Hark  !  from  the  midnight  hills  around, 
A  voice  of  more  than  mortal  sound 
In  distant  halleluiahs  stole, 
Wild  murm'ring  on  the  raptured  soul. 

Then  swift  to  every  startled  eye, 
Xew  streams  of  glory  light  the  sky ; 
Heaven  bursts  her  azure  gates  to  pour 
Her  spirits  to  the  midnight  hour. 

On  wheels  of  light,  on  wings  of  flame, 

The  glorious  hosts  of  Zion  came. 

High  heaven  with  songs  of  triumph  rung 

While  thus  they  struck  their  harps  and  sung : — 

0,  Zion  !  lift  thy  raptured  eye, 
The  long-expected  hour  is  nigh : 
The  joys  of  nature  rise  again, 
The  Prince  of  Salem  comes  to  reign. 

26 


THE     NATIVITY.  27 

See  Mercy  from  her  golden  urn 
Pours  a  rich  stream  to  them  that  mourn  ; 
Behold,  she  binds  with  tender  care 
The  bleeding  bosom  of  despair  ! 

He  comes  to  cheer  the  trembling  heart, 
Bids  Satan  and  his  host  depart ; 
Again  the  Day-Star  gilds  the  gloom, 
Again  the  flowers  of  Eden  bloom ! 

0  Zion  !  lift  thy  raptured  eye  ! 
The  long-expected  hour  is  nigh  ; 
The  joys  of  nature  rise  again, 
The  Prince  of  Salem  comes  to  reign. 

Campbell. 


THIS  is  tho  month,  and  this  the  happy  morn, 
Wherein  the  Son  of  Heaven's  eternal  King, 
Of  wedded  Maid,  and  Virgin  Mother  born, 
Our  great  redemption  from  above  did  bring ; 
For  so  the  holy  sages  once  did  sing, 

That  He  our  deadly  forfeit  should  release, 
And  with  his  Father  work  us  a  perpetual  peace. 

That  glorious  form,  that  light  unsufferable, 
And  that  far-beaming  blaze  of  rnaje^tY, 
Wherewith  he  wont  at  Heav'n's  high  council-table 
To  sit  the  midst  of  Trinal  Unity, 
He  laid  aside ;  and  here  with  us  to  be, 

Forsook  tho  courts  of  everlasting  day, 
And  chose  with  us  a  darksome  house  of  mortal  clay. 

Say,  heav'nly  Muse,  shall  not  thy  sacred  vein 

Afford  a  present  to  the  Infant  God  ? 

Hast  tliou  no  verse,  no  hymn,  or  solemn  strain, 

To  welcome  him  to  this  his  new  abode, 

Now  while  the  Heav'n  by  the  sun's  team  untrod, 

Hath  took  no  print  of  the  approaching  light, 
And  all  the  spangled  host  keep  watch  in  squadrons  bright  : 


THE     NATIVITY.  29 

Sec  how  from  far  upon  the  eastern  road 
The  star-led  wizards  haste  with  odors  sweet : 
O  run,  prevent  them  with  thy  humble  ode, 
And  lay  it  lowly  at  his  blessed  feet ; 
Have  thou  the  honor  first  thy  Lord  to  greet, 

And  join  thy  voice  unto  the  angel  quire, 
From  out  his  secret  altar  touch' d  with  hallow'd  fire. 


THE    HYMN. 


IT  was  the  winter  wild, 
While  the  Heav'n-born  child 

All  meanly  wrapt  in  the  rude  manger  lies  : 
Nature  in  awe  to  him 
Had  doff'd  her  gaudy  trim, 

With  her  great  Master  so  to  sympathize  ; 
It  was  no  season  then  for  her 
To  wanton  with  the  eun,  her  lusty  paramour. 

Only  with  speeches  fair 
She  wooes  the  gentle  air 

To  hide  her  guilty  front  with  innocent  enow, 
And  on  her  naked  shame, 
Pollute  with  sinful'blame, 

The  saintly  veil  of  maiden  white  to  throw, 
Confounded,  that  her  Maker's  eyes 
Should  look  so  near  upon  her  foul  deformities. 


30  THE     NATIVITY. 

But  ho  her  fears  to  cease, 

Sent  down  the  meek-eyed  Peace  ; 

She  erown'd  with  olive  green,  came  swiftly  sliding 
Down  through  the  turning  sphere 
His  ready  harbinger, 

With  turtle  wing  the  amorous  clouds  dividing. 
And  waving  with  her  myrtle  wand, 
She  strikes  a  universal  peace  through  sea  and  land. 

No  war,  or  battle's  sound 
Was  heard  the  world  around : 

The  idle  spear  and  shield  were  high  up  hung. 
The  hooked  chariot  stood 
Unstain'd  with  hostile  blood, 

The  trumpet  spake  not  to  the  armed  throng v 
And  kings  sat  still  with  awful  eye, 
As  if  they  surely  knew  their  sovran  Lord  was  by. 

But  peaceful  was  the  night, 
Wherein  the  Prince  of  light 

His  reign  of  peace  upon  the  earth  began ; 
The  winds  with  wonder  whist 
Smoothly  the  waters  kist, 

Whisp'ring  new  joys  to  the  mild  ocean, 
Who  now  hath  quite  forgot  to  rave, 
W  hile  birds  of  calm  sit  brooding  on  the  charmed  wave, 

The  stars  with  deep  amaze, 
Stand  fix'd  in  steadfast  gaze, 
Bending  one  way  their  precious  influence, 


THE     NATIVITY. 

And  will  not  take  their  flight 
For  all  the  morning  light, 

Or  Lucifer  that  often  warn'd  them  thence ; 
But  in  their  glimmering  orbs  did  glow, 
Until  the  Lord  himself  bespake,  and  bid  them  go. 

And  though  the  shady  gloom 
Had  given  day  her  room, 

The  sun  himself  withheld  his  wonted  speed, 
And  hid  his  head  for  shame, 
As  his  inferior  flame 

The  new  enlighten'd  world  no  more  should  need ; 
He  saw  a  greater  sun  appear 
Than  his  bright  throne,  or  burning  axletree  could  bear. 

The  shepherds  on  the  lawn, 
Or  e'er  the  point  of  dawn, 

Sat  simply  chatting  in  a  rustic  row  ; 
Full  little  thought  they  then 
That  the  mighty  Pan 

Was  kindly  come  to  live  with  them  below, 
Perhaps  their  loves,  or  else  their  sheep, 
Was  all  that  did  their  silly  thoughts  so  busy  keep. 

When  such  music  sweet, 
Their  hearts  and  ears  did  greet, 

As  never  was  by  mortal  finger  strook, 
Divinely-warbled  voice 
Answering  the  stringed  noise, 


THE      NATIVITY. 

As  all  their  souls  in  blissful  rapture  took : 
The  air  such  pleasure  loth  to  lose 
With  thousand  echoes  still  prolongs  each  heav'nly  close. 

Nature  that  heard  such  sound, 
Beneath  the  hollow  round 

Of  Cynthia's  seat,  the  aery  region  thrilling, 
Now  was  almost  won 
To  think  her  part  was  done, 

And  that  her  reign  had  here  its  last  fulfilling  ; 
She  knew  such  harmony  alone 
Could  hold  all  heav'n  and  earth  in  happier  union. 

At  last  surrounds  their  sight 
A  globe  of  circular  light, 

That  with  long  beams  the  shamefaced  night  array'd 
The  helmed  cherubim 
The  sworded  seraphim 

Are  seen  in  glittering  ranKs  with  wings  displayed, 
Harping  in  loud  and  solemn  quire 
With  unexpressivc  notes  to  heav'n's  new-born  Heir. 

Such  music  (as  'tis  said) 
Before  was  never  made, 

But  when  of  old  the  sons  of  morning  sung, 
While  the  Creator  great 
His  constellations  set, 

And  the  well-balanced  world  on  hinges  hung, 
And  cast  the  dark  foundations  deep, 
And  bid  the  welt'ring  waves  their  oozy  channel  keep. 


THE      NATIVITY.  33 

Ring  out,  ye  crystal  spheres, 
Once  bless  our  humble  ears, 

(If  ye  have  power  to  touch  our  senses  so) 
And  let  your  silver  chime 
Move  in  melodious  time, 

And  let  the  bass  of  heav'n's  deep  organ  blow, 
And  with  your  ninefold  harmony, 
Make  up  full  concert  to  th'  angelic  symphony. 

For  if  such  holy  song 
Inwrap  our  fancy  long, 

Time  will  run  back,  and  fetch  the  age  of  gold, 
And  speckled  Vanity 
Will  sicken  soon  and  die, 

And  leprous  Sin  will  melt  with  earthly  mould, 
And  Hell  itself  will  pass  away, 
And  leave  her  dolorous  mansions  to  the  peering  day. 

Yea,  Truth  and  Justice  then 
Will  down  return  to  men, 

Orb'd  in  a  rainbow;  and  like  glories  wearing 
Mercy  will  sit  between, 
Throned  in  celestial  sheen, 

With  radiant  feet  the  tissued  clouds  down  steering, 
And  Heav'n,  as  at  some  festival, 
Will  open  wide  the  gates  of  her  high  palace  hall. 

But  wisest  Fate  says  no, 
This  must  not  yet  be  so, 

The  babe  lies  yet  in  smiling  infancy, 
3 


34  THE     NATIVITY. 

That  on  the  bitter  cross 
Must  redeem  our  loss ; 

So  both  himself  and  us  to  glorify  : 
Yet  first  to  those  ycliain'd  in  sleep, 
The  wakeful  trump  of  Doom  must  thunder  through  the  deep 

With  such  a  horrid  clang 
As  on  Mount  Sinai  rang, 

While  the  red  fire  and  smouldering  clouds  outbreak ; 
The  aged  earth,  aghast, 
With  terror  of  that  blast, 

Shall  from  the  surface  to  the  centre  shake : 
When  at  the  world's  last  session, 
The  dreadful  Judge  in  middle  air  shall  spread  his  throne. 

And  then  at  last  our  bliss 
Full  and  perfect  is, 

But  now  begins ;  for  from  this  happy  day, 
Th'  old  Dragon  underground 
In  straiter  limits  bound, 

Not  half  so  far  casts  his  usurped  sway, 
And  wroth  to  see  his  kingdom  fail, 
Swindges  the  scaly  horror  of  his  folded  tail. 

The  oracles  are  dumb, 
No  voice  or  hideous  hum 

Runs  through  the  arched  roof  in  words  deceiving. 
Apollo  from  his  shrine 
Can  no  more  divine, 

With  hollow  shriek  the  steep  of  Delphos  leaving. 


THE      NATIVITY.  35 

No  nightly  trance  or  breathed  spell 

Inspires  the  pale-eyed  priest  from  his  prophetic  cell. 

The  lonely  mountains  o'er 
And  the  resounding  shore, 

A  voice  of  weeping  heard  and  loud  lament, 
From  haunted  spring  and  dale 
Edg'd  with  poplar  pale, 

The  parting  Genius  is  with  sighing  sent ; 
With  flower-inwoven  tresses  torn, 
The  nymphs  in  twilight  shade  of  tangled  thickets  mourn. 

In  consecrated  earth 
And  on  the  holy  hearth, 

The  Lars  and  Lemures  moan  with  midnight  plaint. 
In  urns  and  altars  round, 
A  drear  and  dying  sound 

Affrights  the  Flamens  at  their  service  quaint ; 
And  the  chill  marble  seems  to  sweat, 
While  each  peculiar  pow'r  foregoes  his  wonted  seat. 

Peor  and  Baalim 
Forsake  their  temples  dim, 

With  that  twice-batter'd  god  of  Palestine  ; 
And  mooned  Ashtaroth, 
Heav'n's  queen  and  mother  both, 

Now  sits  not  girt  with  tapers'  holy  shrine  ; 
The  Lybic  Hammon  shrinks  his  horn, 
In  vain  the  Tyrian  maids  their  wounded  Thammus  mourn. 


36  THE    NATIVITY. 

And  sullen  Moloch  fled, 
Hath  left  in  shadows  dread, 

His  burning  idol  all  of  blackest  hue  ; 
In  vain  with  cymbals'  ring 
They  call  the  grisly  king, 

In  dismal  dance  about  the  furnace  blue ; 
The  brutish  gods  of  Nile  as  fast, 
Isis  and  Or  us,  and  the  dog  Anubis  haste. 

Nor  is  Osiris  seen 

In  Memphian  grove  or  green, 

Trampling  the  unshowYd  grass  with  lowings  loud  ; 
Nor  can  he  be  at  rest 
Within  his  sacred  chest, 

Naught  but  profoundest  Hell  can  be  his  shroud  ; 
In  vain  with  timbrel' d  anthems  dark, 
The  sable-stoled  sorcerers  bear  his  worshipt  ark. 

He  feels  from  Juda's  land 
The  dreaded  Infant's  hand, 

The  rays  of  Bethlehem  blind  his  dusky  eyn  ; 
Nor  all  the  gods  beside 
Longer  dare  abide, 

Not  Typhon  huge  ending  in  snaky  twine ; 
Our  Babe,  to  show  his  Godhead  true, 
Can  in  his  swaddling  bands  control  the  damned  crew. 

So  when  the  Sun  in  bed, 
Curtain' d  with  cloudy  red, 
Pillows  his  chin  upon  an  orient  wave, 


THE      NATIVITY.  37 

The  flocking  shadows  palo 
Troop  to  th'  infernal  jail, 

Each  fetter 'd  ghost  slips  to  his  several  grave, 
And  the  yellow-skirted  Fayes 
Fly  after  the  night-steeds,  leaving  their  moon-lov'd  maze. 

But  see  the  Virgin  blest, 
Hath  laid  her  Babe  to  rest, 

Time  is  our  tedious  song  should  here  have  ending : 
Heav'n's  youngest-teemed  star 
Hath  fix'd  her  polish'd  car 

Her  sleeping  Lord  with  handmaid  lamp  attending ; 
And  all  about  the  courtly  stable 
Bright  harnest  angels  sit  in  order  serviceable. 

John  Milton. 


Tfce  3ftoltf  Familtj, 


And  it  came  to  pass,  as  the  angels  were  gone  away  from  them  into  heaven, 
the  shepherds  said  one  to  another,  "  Let  us  now  go  even  unto  Bethlehem,  and  see 
this  tiling  which  has  come  to  pass,  which  the  Lord  hath  made  known  unto  us." 
And  they  came  with  haste  and  found  Mary  and  Joseph  and  the  babe  lying  in  a 
manger. — LUKE  ii,  15,  16. 

WHEN  from  thy  beaming  throne, 

0  High  and  Holy  One  ! 
Thou  cam'st  to  dwell  with  those  of  mortal  birth ; 

No  ray  of  living  light 

Flashed  on  th'  astonished  sight, 
To  show  the  GODHEAD  walked  his  subject  earth : 

Thine  was  no  awful  form, 

Shrouded  in  mist  and  storm, 
Of  Seraph,  walking  on  the  viewless  wind  ; 

Nor  didst  thou  deign  to  wear, 

The  port,  sublimely  fair, 
Of  Angel-heralds,  sent  to  bless  mankind. 

Made  like  the  sons  of  clay, 
Thy  matchless  glories  lay 
In  form  of  feeble  infancy  concealed ;  «* 


EnEravei~bv  G  R  He 


•~- 


THE   HOLY  FAMILY.  39 

No  pomp  of  outward  sign 
Proclaimed  the  Power  Divine  ; 
No  earthly  state  the  heavenly  guest  revealed. 

Thou  didst  not  choose  thy  home 

Beneath  a  lordly  dome  ; 
No  regal  diadem  wreathed  thy  baby  brow. 

Nor  on  a  soft  couch  laid, 

Nor  in  rich  vest  arrayed, 
But  with  the  poorest  of  the  poor  wert  Thou ! 

Yet  she  whose  gentle  breast 

Was  thy  glad  place  of  rest  ;— 
In  her  the  blood  of  royal  David  flowed  : 

Men  passed  her  dwelling  by 

With  proud  and  scornful  eye  ; 
But  Angels  knew  and  loved  her  mean  abode. 

There  softer  strains  she  heard 

Than  song  of  evening  bird, 
Or  tuneful  minstrels  in  a  queenly  bower  ; 

And  o'er  her  dwelling  lone 

A  brighter  radiance  shone 
Than  ever  glitter' d  from  a  Monarch's  tower. 

For  there  the  Mystic  star 
That  sages  led  from  far, 
To  pour  their  treasures  at  her  Infant's  feet, 


40  THE  HOLY  FAMILY. 

Still  shed  its  golden  light ; — 
There,  through  the  calm,  clear  night, 
We  heard  Angelic  Voices,  strangely  sweet. 

0  happiest  thou  of  all 

Who  bear  the  deadly  thrall 
Which,  for  one  mother's  crime,  to  all  was  given  : — 

Her  first  of  mortal  birth 

Brought  Death  to  reign  on  earth, 
But  THINE  brings  Light  and  Life  again  from  heaven ! 

Happiest  of  Virgins  thou, 

On  whose  unruffled  brow 
Blends  maiden  meekness  with  a  mother's  love ! 

Blest  is  thy  Heavenly  Son, 

Blest  is  the  Holy  One, 

Whom  man  knows  not  below,  though  Angels  Hyrnn'd 
above ! 

Thomas  Dale. 


And  when  eight  days  were  accomplished  for  the  circumcision  of  the  child,  his 
name  was  called  Jesus,  which  was  so  named  of  the  angel  before  he  was  con- 
ceived. — LUKE  ii,  21. 

YE  flaming  Pow'rs,  and  winged  Warriors  bright, 
That  erst  with  music,  and  triumphant  song, 
First  heard  by  happy  watchful  shepherds'  ear, 
So  sweetly  sung  your  joy  the  clouds  along 
Through  the  soft  silence  of  the  list'ning  night ; 
Now  mourn,  and  if  sad  share  with  us  to  bear 
Your  fiery  essence  can  distill  no  tear, 
Burn  in  your  sighs,  and  borrow 
Seas  wept  from  our  deep  sorrow  : 
He  who  with  all  heav'n's  heraldry  whilere 
Enter' d  the  world,  now  bleeds  to  give  us  ease ; 
Alas,  how  soon  our  sin 
Sore  doth  begin 

His  infancy  to  seize  ! 

0  more  exceeding  love,  or  law  more  just ! 
Just  law  indeed,  but  more  exceeding  love  ! 
For  we  by  rightful  doom  remediless 
Were  lost  in  death,  till  He  that  dwelt  above 
High  throned  in  secret  bliss,  for  us  frail  dust 

Emptied  his  glory,  ev'n  to  nakedness  ; 

'          41 


42  THE    CIRCUMCISION. 

And  that  great  covenant  which  we  still  transgress 

Entirely  satisfied, 

And  the  full  wrath  beside 

Of  vengeful  justice  bore  for  our  excess, 

And  seals  obedience  first,  with  wounding  smart, 

This  day,  but  0  ere  long 

Huge  pangs  and  strong 

Will  pierce  more  near  his  heart. 

John  Milton. 


The  ®ffc*wg  of  the 


Behold  !  there  come  wise  men  from  the  East  to  Jerusalem,  saying,  "  Where  is 
he  that  is  bora  King  of  the  Jews  ?  for  we  have  seen  his  star  in  the  East,  and  are 
come  to  worship  him." 

FAR  in  the  desert  East  it  shone, 
A  guiding-star,  and  only  one  ; 
The  other  planets  left  the  sky, 
Trembling  as  if  rebukefl  on  high. 
The  moon  forsook  her  silvery  height, 
Abash'  d  before  that  holier  light  : 
The  storm-clouds  that  on  ether  lay 
Melted  before  its  glorious  ray  ; 
Till  half  the  heaven  shone  pure  and  clear, 
Like  some  diviner  atmosphere 
Than  ours,  where  heavy  vapors  rise 
From  the  vile  earth,  to  dim  the  skies  ; 
Meet  herald  of  that  promised  day, 
When  souls  shall  burst  the  bond  of  clay, 
And,  purified  from  earth-stains,  come, 
Radiant  to  its  eternal  home. 
On  roll'd  the  star,  nor  paused  to  shed 
Its  glory  o'er  the  mountain's  head, 
Whereon  the  morning's  sunshine  fell, 
Where  eve's  last  crimson  loved  to  dwell, 
The  gilded  roof,  the  stately  fane, 

43 


44  THE     OFFERING     OF     THE     MAGI. 

The  garden,  nor  the  corn-hid  plain, 

The  camp,  where  red  watch-fires  were  keeping 

Guard  o'er  a  thousand  soldiers  sleeping. 

But  temple,  palace,  city  past, 

That  star  paused  in  the  sky  at  last. 

It  paused  where,  roused  from  slumbers  mild, 

Lay  'mid  the  kine  a  new-born  child. 

Are  there  no  clarions  upon  earth, 
To  tell  mankind  their  monarch's  birth  ? 
Are  there  no  banners  to  unfold, 
Heavy  with  purple  and  with  gold  ? 
Are  there  no  flowers  to  strew  the  ground, 
Nor  arches  with  the  palm-branch  bound  ? 
Nor  fires  to  kindle  on  the  hill  ? 
No  !  man  is  mute — the  world  is  still. 
Ill  would  all  earthly  pomp  agree 
With  this  hour's  mild  solemnity ; 
The  tidings  which  that  infant  brings, 
Are  not  for  conquerors  nor  for  kings  ; 
Nor  for  the  sceptre,  nor  the  brand, 
For  crowned  head,  nor  red  right  hand. 
But  to  the  contrite  and  the  meek, 
The  sinful,  sorrowful,  and  weak  : 
Or  those  who,  with  a  hope  sublime, 
Are  waiting  for  the  Lord's  good  time. 
Only  for  those  the  angels  sing, 
"  All  glory  to  our  new-born  King, 
And  peace  and  good-will  unto  men, 
Hosanna  to  our  God !     Amen." 

L.  E.  Landon. 


wta 


And  when  they  were  departed,  behold,  the  angel  of  the  Lord  appeareth  to 
Joseph  in  a  dream,  saying,  "  Arise,  and  take  the  young  child  and  his  mother,  and 
flee  into  Egypt."—  ST.  MATTHEW  ii.  13. 

'Tis  noon  —  the  sun  is  in  the  sky  ; 
And  from  his  broad  and  burning  ray 
To  groves  and  glens  the  shepherds  fly 
Where  welcome  shade  excludes  the  day  ; 
Or  rest,  where  sparkling  waters  play 
Like  fairy  streams  of  liquid  gold  — 
Such  as  mysterious  legends  say, 
Around  the  Fire-King's  palace  rolled. 


Behold  yon  scattered  group  recline 
Beneath  a  tall  oak's  ample  shade, 
A  form  of  manly  port  benign, 
And  one,  who  seems  a  loveliest  maid, 
Save  that  within  her  arms  is  laid, 
An  Infant  like  his  mother  fair ; 
Though  never  earthborn  babe  displayed 

Such  beauties,  as  are  blended  there. 

45 


46  THE     FLIGHT     INTO     EGYPT. 

No  tints  of  healthful  crimson  glow 
In  that  fair  Infant's  polished  cheek ; 
Paler  his  brow  than  mountain  snow, 
His  dove-like  eyes  serenely  meek. 
No  smiles  around  his  lips  bespeak 
The  joy  of  heart  to  childhood  given : 
But  vain,  0  vain  it  were  to  seek 
For  charms  of  earth  in  Child  of  Heaven 


For  this  is  He,  the  Mystic  Child  ! 
Yea,  this  the  Virgin's  promised  Son  ! 
Behold  the  mother  undefiled  ! 
Behold  her  babe — the  Holy  One ! 
And  do  they  wander  forth  alone, 
By  Israel  slighted  or  forgot ; 
And,  when  the  Highest  seeks  "his  own," 
Do  even  "his  own"  receive  him  not? 


.Yes !— from  a  despot's  fell  decree, 
To  seek  a  foreign  home  they  fly ; 
And,  EGYPT,  once  agaan  in  thee 
Shall  dwell  the  Holy  Family, 
Where  erst  in  bitter  slavery 
Sad  Israel  mourned  his  joyless  doom ; 
There  shall  he  now  his  Light  descry ; 
Thence  shall  his  God,  his  Glory  come ! 


THE     FLIGHT     INTO     EGYPT.  47 

0  happy  mother ! — happiest  far 
Of  all  who  felt  a  mother's  throes  ! — 
What  though  no  more  the  mystic  star 
Above  thy  path  through  darkness  glows, 
When  gazing  on  the  calm  repose 
Of  Him,  thy  cherished  Babe  divine  ; 
The  bliss  earth's  fondest  mother  knows, 
0  can  it  give  a  thought  of  thine  ? 

Thomas  Dale. 


ABASHED  be  all  the  boast  of  age  I 

Be  hoary  learning  dumb  ! 
Expounder  of  the  mystic  page, 

Behold  an  infant  come  ! 

0  wisdom,  whose  unfading  power 

Beside  the  Eternal  stood, 
To  frame  in  nature's  earliest  hour 

The  land,  the  sky,  the  flood ; — 

Yet  didst  thou  not  disdain  a  while 

An  infant's  form  to  wear  ; 
To  bless  thy  mother  with  a  smile, 

And  lisp  thy  faltered  prayer. 

But  in  thy  Father's  own  abode, 

With  Israel's  elders  round, 
Conversing  high  with  Israel's  God, 

Thy  chiefest  joy  was  found. 

5o  may  our  youth  adore  thy  name ! 

And,  Saviour,  deign  to  bless 
With  fostering  grace  the  timid  flame 

Of  early  holiness ! 

Bishop  Heber. 

48 


Christ  Expmmttitttj  th$  Law, 


And  all  that  heard  him  were  astonished  at  his  understanding  and  answers. 


ii.  47. 


THE  Voice  of  God  was  mighty,  when  it  brake 
Through  the  deep  stillness  of  chaotic  night, 
Uttering  the  potent  words,  "  Let  there  be  light!" 
And  light  was  kindled  as  th'  Eternal  spake  ; 
While  Hosts  Seraphic  hymned  the  wondrous  plan 
Which  formed  Heaven,  Earth,  Sun,  Sea,  and  crowned  the 
work  with  MAN. 

The  Voice  of  God  was  mighty,  when  it  came 

From  Sinai's  summit  wrapped  in  midnight  gloom  ; 

When  ceaseless  thunders  told  the  sinner's  doom, 

And  answering  lightnings  flashed  devouring  flame  ; 

Till  prostrate  Israel  breathed  th'  imploring  cry, 

"  Veil,  Lord,  thy  terrors  ;  cease  thy  thunders,  or  we  die  !  " 

The  Voice  of  God  was  mighty,  when  alone 
Elijah  stood  on  Horeb,  and  the  blast 
Rent  the  huge  mountains  as  JEHOVAH  passed, 
And  the  Earth  quaked  beneath  the  Holy  One  ; 
When  ceased  the  storm,  the  blast,  the  lightning  glare  — 
And  but  the  "still  small  voice"  was  heard—  yet  GOD  was 
there, 

4  49 


)  CHRIST     EXPOUNDING     THE     LAW. 

• 

Yet  not  alone  in  thunder  or  in  storm 
The  Voice  of  God  was  mighty,  as  it  came 
From  the  red  mountain,  or  the  car  of  flame : — 
When  stooped  the  Godhead  to  a  mortal  form ; 
When  Jesus  came  to  work  his  Father's  will, 
His  was  the  voice  of  God — and  it  was  mighty  still. 

He  chid  the  billows — and  the  heaving  sea 

Lay  hushed — the  warring  winds  obeyed  his  word, — 

The  conscious  demons  knew  and  owned  their  Lord, 

And  at  his  bidding  set  the  captive  free. — 

But  is  not  Hatred  strong  as  wave  or  wind, 

And  arc  the  Hosts  of  Hell  more  stubborn  than  mankind  ? 

These,  too,  he  vanquished.     When  the  Holy  Law 
From  his  pure  lips  like  mountain  honey  flowed : 
Still,  as  he  spake,  the  haughty  heart  was  bowed, 
Passion  was  calmed,  and  Malice  crouched  in  awe — 
The  Scribe,  perversely  blind,  began  to  see, 
And  mute  conviction  held  the  humbled  Pharisee. 

"  Man  never  spake  like  this  man,"  was  their  cry, — 
And  yet  he  spake,  and  yet  they  heard  in  vain  : 
E'en  as  their  Sires  to  idols  turned  again 
When  Sinai's  thunders  shook  no  more  the  sky — 
So  these  went  back  to  bend  at  Mammon's  shrine, 
And  heard  that  Voice  no  more,  yet  felt  it  was  Divine  ! 

ITiomas  Dale. 


Jt  ^Txxiss  fram  tto 


A  VOICE  from  the  desert  comes  awful  and  shrill  : 
"  The  Lord  is  advancing  —  prepare  ye  the  way!" 

The  word  of  Jehovah  he  comes  to  fulfill, 

And  o'er  the  dark  world  pours  the  splendor  of  day. 

Bring  down  the  proud  mountain,  though  towering  to  heaven  ; 

And  be  the  low  valley  exalted  on  high  ; 
The  rough  path  and  crooked  be  made  smooth  and  even  ; 

For,  Sion  !  your  King,  your  Redeemer  is  nigh  ! 

The  beams  of  salvation  his  progress  illume, 
The  lone  dreary  wilderness  sings  of  her  God  ; 

The  rose  and  the  myrtle  shall  suddenly  bloom, 
And  the  olive  of  peace  spread  its  branches  abroad. 

William  Drummond. 


51 


Baptism  xxf  ®lmst 


And  Jesus,  when  he  was  baptized,  went  up  straightway  out  of  the  water  ;  and 
praying,  lo  !  he  saw  the  heavens  open  unto  him,  and  he  saw  the  Spirit  of  God 
descending  like  a  dove,  in  a  hodily  shape  like  a  dove,  and  lighting  upon  him  :  and 
lo  !  there  came  a  voice  from  heaven  saying,  "  Thou  art  my  beloved  son,  in  whom 
I  am  well  pleased."  —  MATTHEW  iii.  13  et  seq.  ;  MARK  i.  9,  1  1  ;  LUKE  iii.  21  —  23. 

IT  was  a  green  spot  in  the  wilderness, 
Touch'd  by  the  river  Jordan.     The  dark  pine 
Never  had  dropp'd  its  tassels  on  the  moss 
Tufting  the  leaning  bank,  nor  on  the  grass 
Of  the  broad  circle,  stretching  evenly 
To  the  straight  larches,  had  a  heavier  foot 
Than  the  wild  heron's  trodden.     Softly  in 
Through  a  long  aisle  of  willows,  dim  and  cool, 
Stole  the  clear  waters  with  their  muffled  feet, 
And  hushing  as  they  spread  into  the  light, 
Circled  the  edges  of  the  pebbled  tank 
Slowly,  then  rippled  through  the  woods  away. 
Hither  had  come  th'  Apostle  of  the  wild, 
Winding  the  river's  course.     'Twas  near  the  flush 
Of  eve,  and,  with  a  multitude  around, 
Who  from  the  cities  had  come  out  to  hear, 
He  stood  breast-high  amid  the  running  stream, 
Baptizing  as  the  Spirit  gave  him  power. 

His  simple  raiment  was  of  camel's  hair, 

52 


THE  BAPTISM   OP  CHRIST.  53 

A  leathern  girdle  close  about  his  loins, 
His  beard  unshorn,  and  for  his  daily  meat 
The  locust  and  wild  honey  of  the  wood — 
But  like  the  face  of  Moses  on  the  mount 
Shone  his  rapt  countenance,  and  in  his  eye 
Burn'd  the  mild  fire  of  love — and  as  he  spoke 
The  ear  lean'd  to  him,  and  persuasion  swift 
To  the  chain'd  spirit  of  the  listener  stole. 

V 

Silent  upon  the  green  and  sloping  bank 
The  people  sat,  and  while  the  leaves  were  shook 
With  the  birds  dropping  early  to  their  nests, 
And  the  gray  eve  came  on,  within  their  hearts 
They  mused  if  he  were  Christ.     The  rippling  stream 
Still  turned  its  silver  courses  from  his  breast, 
As  he  divined  their  thought.     "  I  but  baptise," 
He  said,  "  with  water ;  but  there  cometh  One, 
•  The  latchet  of  whose  shoes  I  may  not  dare 
E'en  to  unloose.     He  will  baptise  with  fire 
And  with  the  Holy  Ghost."     And  lo!  while  yet 
The  words  were  on  his  lips,  he  raised  his  eyes 
And  on  the  bank  stood  Jesus.     He  had  laid 
His  raiment  off,  and  with  his  loins  alone 
Girt  with  a  mantle,  and  his  perfect  limbs, 
In  their  angelic  slightness,  meek  and  bare, 
He  waited  to  go  in.     But  John  forbade, 
And  hurried  to  his  feet  and  stay'd  him  there, 
And  said,  "  Nay,  Master,  I  have  need  of  thine, 
Not  thou  of  mine!"     And  Jesus,  with  a  smile 
Of  heavenly  sadness,  met  his  earnest  looks, 


54  THE   BAPTISM   OF  CHRIST. 

And  answer'd,  "  Suffer  it  to  be  so  now ; 

For  thus  it  doth  become  me  to  fulfill 

All  righteousness."     And,  leaning  to  the  stream, 

He  took  around  him  the  Apostle's  arm, 

And  drew  him  gently  to  the  midst.     The  wood 

Was  thick  with  the  dim  twilight  as  they  came 

Up  from  the  water.     With  his  clasped  hands 

Laid  on  his  breast,  th'  Apostle  silently 

Follow' d  his  Master's  steps — when  lo  !  a  light, 

Bright  as  the  tenfold  glory  of  the  sun, 

Yet  lambent  as  the  softly  burning  stars, 

Enveloped  them,  and  from  the  heavens  away 

Parted  the  dim  blue  ether  like  a  Tail ; 

And  as  a  voice,  fearful  exceedingly, 

Broke  from  the  midst,  "  THIS  is  MY  MUCH-LOVED  SON, 

IN   WHOM  I  AM  WELL  PLEASED,"  a  SllOW-wllite  dove, 

Floating  upon  its  wings,  descended  through ; 
And  shedding  a  swift  music  from  its  plumes, 
Circled,  and  flutter'd  to  the  Saviour's  breast. 

N.  P.  Willis. 


Fisttmj  n  tbs 


Then  saith  Jesus  unto  him,  "  Get  thee  hence,  Satan  .  for  it  is  written,  Thou 
shalt  worship  the  Lord  thy  God,  and  him  only  shalt  thou  serve."—  ST.  MAT 
THEW,  iv.  10. 

So  Satan  fell  ;  and  straight  a  fiery  globe 
Of  angels  on  full  sail  of  wing  flew  nigh, 
Who  on  their  plumy  vans  receiv'd  him  soft, 
From  his  uneasy  station,  and  upbore 
As  on  a  floating  couch  through  the  blithe  air, 
Then  in  a  flowery  valley  set  him  down 
On  a  green  bank,  and  set  before  him  spread 
A  table  of  celestial  food  divine, 
Ambrosial  fruits  fetch'd  from  the  tree  of  life, 
And  from  the  fount  of  life  ambrosial  drink, 
That  soon  refreshed  him  wearied,  and  repair'  d 
What  hunger,  if  aught  hunger  had  impair'd, 
Or  thirst  ;  and  as  he  fed,  angelic  choirs 
Sung  heav'nly  anthems  of  his  victory 
Over  temptation,  and  the  Tempter  proud. 
True  image  of  the  Father,  whether  thron'd 
In  the  bosom  of  bliss,  and  light  of  light 
Conceiving,  or  remote  from  Heaven,  inshrined 
In  fleshy  tabernacle,  and  human  form, 


56  VICTORY   IN   THE   WILDERNESS. 

Wand'ring  the  wilderness,  whatever  place, 

Habit,  or  state,  or  motion  still  expressing 

The  Son  of  God,  with  Godlike  force  endued, 

Against  th'  attempter  of  thy  Father's  throne, 

And  thief  of  Paradise ;  him  long  of  old 

Thou  didst  debel,  and  down  from  Heaven  cast 

With  all  his  army,  now  thou  hast  aveng'd 

Supplanted  Adam,  and  by  vanquishing 

Temptation,  hast  regain'd  lost  Paradise, 

And  frustrated  the  conquest  fraudulent : 

He  never  more  henceforth  will  dare  set  foot 

In  Paradise  to  tempt !  his  snares  are  broke  : 

For  though  that  seat  of  earthly  bliss  be  faiPd, 

A  fairer  Paradise  is  founded  now 

For  Adam  and  his  chosen  sons,  whom  thou 

A  Saviour  hast  come  down  to  re-install 

Where  they  shall  dwell  secure,  when  time  shall  be, 

Of  tempter,  and  temptation  without  fear. 

But  thou,  infernal  serpent,  shalt  not  long 

Rule  in  the  clouds ;  like  an  autumnal  star 

Or  light'ning  thou  shalt  fall  from  Heaven,  trod  down 

Under  his  feet,  for  proof,  ere  this  thou  feel'st 

Thy  wound,  yet  not  thy  last  and  deadliest  wound, 

By  this  repulse  received,  and  hold'st  in  Hell 

No  triumph  ;  in  all  her  gates  Abaddon  rues 

Thy  bold  attempt ;  hereafter  learn  with  awe 

To  dread  the  Son  of  God,  he  all  unarm'd 

Shall  chase  thee  with  the  terror  of  his  voice 

From  thy  demoniac  holds,  possession  foul, 

Thee  and  thy  legions  ;  yelling  they  shall  fly, 


VICTORY  IN   THE   WILDERNESS.  57 

And  beg  to  hide  them  in  a  herd  of  Swine, 
Lest  he  command  them  down  into  the  deep 
Bound,  and  to  torment  sent  before  their  time. 
Hail,  Son  of  the  Most  High,  Heir  of  both  worlds, 
Queller  of  Satan,  on  thy  glorious  work 
enter,  and  begin  to  save  mankind. 

Milton. 


xxf 


THEY  stand  amid  their  earnest  friends,  joyful  yet  awed  and 

still, 

As  priestly  hands  the  rite  of  old  by  God  ordained  fulfill ; 
The  few  and  simple  words  they  breathe,  though  scarce  they 

meet  the  ear, 
Pledge  heart  to  heart,  and  life  to  life,  through  many  a  coming 

year. 

As  meet  their  hands  with  tender  grasp,  each  heart  renounces 

there 

Whatever  thought  of  earthly  bliss  tne  other  may  not  share. 
Henceforth  together  do  they  pass,  in  joy  and  sorrow  one, 
Nor  that  mysterious  union  ends,  till  life  itself  be  done. 

And  now  with  blushes  and  with  smiles,  the  young  bride 

meets  her  friends ; 

With  voice  of  trembling  earnestness,  a  father  o'er  her  bends, 
A  sister's  tear  is  on  her  cheek,  a  mother's  heart  overflows, 
As  hope  and  fear  their  visions  to  her  anxious  eyes  disclose. 

That  trusting  one,  whose  deepest  love  is  yielded  to  his  claim, 
Who  now,  by  smiling  friends  addressed,  first  hears  her  matron 
name ! 


THE     MARRIAGE     OP     CANA.  59 

To  her  lie  vows  himself  anew,  before  that  secret  shrine 
Where  Conscience  to  the  heart  reveals  the  majesty  divine. 

Blest  Saviour !  though  no  bridal  wreath  entwine  thy  awful 

brow, 

Not  void  of  sympathy  for  aught  of  blameless  joy  wast  thou. 
And  walking  in  thy  Gospel's  light,  thy  true  disciples  prove 
The  purity  of  wedded  bliss  the  holiness  of  love. 

S.  a.  Buljinch. 


Christ  %  the  Well  of 

Jesus  saith  unto  her,  "Give  me  to  drink."— JOHN  iv.  7. 

UPON  the  well  by  Sy  char's  gate, 
At  burning  noon,  the  Saviour  sate, 
Athirst  and  hungry  from  the  way 
His  feet  had  trod  since  early  day. 
The  twelve  had  gone  to  seek  for  food, 
And  left  him  in  his  solitude. 


They  come— and  spread  before  him  there, 
With  faithful  haste,  the  pilgrim  fare, 
And  gently  bid  him,  "  Master,  eat !" 
But  God  had  sent  him  better  meat, 
And  there  is  on  his  lowly  brow 
Nor  weariness  nor  faintness  now  ; 


For  while  they  sought  the  market-place, 

His  words  had  won  a  soul  to  grace, 

And  when  he  set  that  sinner  free 

From  bonds  of  guilt  and  infamy, 

His  heart  grew  strong  with  joy  divine, 

More  than  the  strength  of  bread  and  wine. 

60 


CHRIST   BY  THE  WELL  OF  SYCHAR.       61' 

So,  Christian,  when  thy  faith  grows  faint 
Amidst  the  toils  that  throng  the  saint, 
Ask  God,  that  thou  mayst  peace  impart 
Unto  some  other  human  heart ; 
And  thou  thy  Master's  joy  shall  share, 
E'en  while  his  cross  thy  shoulders  bear. 

G-eorge  W.  Beihune,  D.  D. 


And  he  put  forth  his  hand,  and  touched  him,  saying,  "  I  will ;  be  thou  clean." 
And  immediately  the  leprosy  departed  from  him. — LUKE  v.   13. 

"  ROOM  for  the  leper  !  Room ! "     And  as  lie  came, 
The  cry  pass'd  on — "  Room  for  the  leper  !  Room  ! " 
Sunrise  was  slanting  on  the  city  gates 
Rosy  and  beautiful,  and  from  the  hills 
The  early  risen  poor  were  coming  in, 
Duly  and  cheerfully  to  their  toil,  and  up 
Rose  the  sharp  hammer's  clink,  and  the  far  hum 
Of  moving  wheels,  and  multitudes  astir, 
And  all  that  in  a  city  murmur  swells — 
Unheard  but  by  the  watcher's  weary  ear.;. 
Aching  with  night's  dull  silence,  or  the  sick 
Hailing  the  welcome  light  and  sounds  that  chase 
The  deathlike  images  of  the  dark  away. 
"  Room  for  the  leper  ! "     And  aside  they  stood — 
Matron,  and  child,  and  pitiless  manhood — all 
Who  met  him  on  his  way — and  let  him  pass. 
And  onward  through  the  open  gate  he  came, 
A  leper  with  the  ashes  on  his  brow, 
Sackcloth  about  his  loins,  and  on  his  lip 
A  covering,  stepping  painfully  and  slow, 

62 


THE     LEPER. 

And  with  a  difficult  utterance  like  one 
Whose  heart  is  with  an  iron  nerve  put  down, 
Crying,  "  Unclean  !  Unclean  ! " 

'Twas  now  the  first 

Of  the  Judean  autumn,  and  the  leaves, 
Whose  shadows  lay  so  still  upon  his  path, 
Had  put  their  beauty  forth  beneath  the  eye 
Of  Judah's  loftiest  noble.     He  was  young, 
And  eminently  beautiful,  and  life 
Mantled  in  eloquent  fulness  on  his  lip, 
And  sparkled  in  his  glance  ;  and  in  his  mien 
There  was  a  gracious  pride  that  every  eye 
Followed  with  benison — and  this  was  he  ! 
With  the  soft  airs  of  summer  there  had  come 
A  torpor  on  his  frame,  which  not  the  speed 
Of  his  best  barb,  nor  music,  nor  the  blast 
Of  the  bold  huntsman's  horn,  nor  aught  that  stirs 
The  spirit  to  its  bent,  might  drive  away. 
The  blood  beat  not  as  wont  within  his  veins 
Dimness  crept  o'er  his  eye ;  a  drowsy  sloth 
Fetter'd  his  limbs  like  palsy,  and  his  mien, 
With,  all  its  loftiness,  seem'd  struck  with  eld. 
Even  his  voice  was  changed — a  languid  moan 
Taking  the  place  of  the  clear  silver  key ; 
And  brain  and  sense  grew  faint,  as  if  the  light 
And  very  air  were  steep' d  in  sluggishness. 
He  strove  with  it  awhile,  as  manhood  will, 
Ever  too  proud  for  weakness,  till  the  rein 
Slacken' d  with  his  grasp,  and  in  its  poise 
The  arrowy  jereed  like  an  aspen  shook. 


64  THE     LEPER. 

Day  after  day,  he  lay  as  if  in  sleep, 
His  skin  grew  dry  and  bloodless,  and  white  scales, 
Circled  with  livid  purple,  covered  him. 
And  then  his  nails  grew  black,  and  fell  away 
From  the  dull  flesh  about  them,  and  the  hues 
Deepen'd  beneath  the  hard  unmoisten'd  scales, 
And  from  their  edges  grew  the  rank  white  hair, 
— And  Helon  was  a  leper ! 

Day  was  breaking, 

When  at  the  altar  of  the  temple  stood 
The  holy  priest  of  God.     The  incense  lamp 
Burn'd  with  a  struggling  light,  and  a  low  chant 
Swell'd  through  the  hollow  arches  of  the  roof 
Like  an  articulate  wail,  and  there,  alone, 
Wasted  to  ghastly  thinness,  Helon  knelt. 
The  echoes  of  the  melancholy  strain 
Died  in  the  distant  aisles,  and  he  rose  up, 
Struggling  with  weakness,  and  bow'd  down  his  head 
Unto  the  sprinkled  ashes,  and  put  off 
His  costly  raiment  for  the  leper's  garb, 
And  with  the  sackcloth  round  him,  and  his  lid 
Hid  in  a  loathsome  covering,  stood  still, 
Waiting  to  hear  his  doom : — 


Depart !  depart,  0  child 
Of  Israel,  from  the  temple  of  thy  God  ! 
For  He  has  smote  thee  with  his  chastening  rod ; 

And  to  the  desert  wild, 
From  all  thou  lov'st,  away  thy  feet  must  flee, 
That  from  thy  plague  His  people  may  be  free. 


THE    LEPER.  65 

Depart !  and  come  not  near 
The  busy  mart,  the  crowded  city,  more ; 
Nor  set  thy  foot  a  human  threshold  o'er  ; 

And  stay  thou  not  to  hear 
Voices  that  call  thee  in  the  way  ;  and  fly 
From  all  who  in  the  wilderness  pass  by. 

Wet  not  thy  burning  lip 
In  streams  that  to  a  human  dwelling  glide ; 
Nor  rest  thee  where  the  covert  fountains  hide  ; 

Nor  kneel  thee-  down  to  dip 
The  water  where  the  pilgrim  bends  to  drink, 
By  desert  well  or  river's  grassy  brink ; 

And  pass  thou  not  between 
The  weary  traveler  and  the  cooling  breeze ; 
And  lie  not  down  to  sleep  beneath  the  trees 

Where  human  tracks  are  seen ; 
Nor  milk  the  goat  that  browseth  on  the  plain, 
Nor  pluck  the  standing  corn,  or  yellow  grain. 

And  now  depart !  and  when 
Thy  heart  is  heavy,  and  thine  eyes  are  dim, 
Lift  up  thy  prayer  beseechingly  to  Him 

Who,  from  the  tribes  of  men, 
Selected  thee  to  feel  his  chastening  rod. 
Depart !  0  leper !  and  forget  not  God ! 

And  he  went  forth — alone  !  not  one  of  all 
The  many  whom  he  loved,  nor  she  whose  name 
5 


66  THE    LEPER. 

Was  woven  in  the  fibres  of  the  heart 
Breaking  within  him  now,  to  come  and  speak 
Comfort  unto  him.     Yea — he  went  his  way, 
Sick,  and  heart-broken,  and  alone — to  die ! 
For  God  had  cursed  the  leper ! 

It  was  noon, 

And  Helon  knelt  beside  a  stagnant  pool 
In  the  lone  wilderness,  and  bathed  his  brow, 
Hot  with  the  burning  leprosy,  and  touch'd 
The  loathsome  water  to  his  fever'd  lips, 
Praying  that  he  might  be  so  blest — to  die ! 
Footsteps  approach'd,  and,  with  no  strength  to  fleo 
He  drew  the  covering  closer  on  his  lip, 
Crying,  "  Unclean  !  unclean !  "  and  in  the  folds 
Of  the  coarse  sackcloth  shrouding  up  his  face, 
He  fell  upon  the  earth  till  they  should  pass. 
Nearer  the  Stranger  came,  and  bending  o'er 
The  leper's  prostrate  form,  pronounced  his  name — 
"  Helon ! "     The  voice  was  like  the  master-tone 
Of  a  rich  instrument — most  strangely  sweet ; 
And  the  dull  pulses  of  disease  awoke, 
And  for  a  moment  beat  beneath  the  hot 
And  leprous  scales  with  a  restoring  thrill. 
"  Helon  !  arise  ! "  and  he  forgot  his  curse, 
And  rose  and  stood  before  Him. 

Love  and  awe 

Mingled  in  the  regard  of  Helon's  eye, 
As  he  beheld  the  stranger.     He  was  not 
In  costly  raiment  clad,  nor  on  his  brow 
The  symbol  of  a  princely  lineage  wore  ; 


THE    LEPER.  67 

No  followers  at  His  back,  nor  in  His  hand 

Buckler,  or  sword,  or  spear, — yet  in  his  mien 

Command  sat  throned  serene,  and  if  He  smiled, 

A  kingly  condescension  graced  His  lips, 

The  lion  would  have  crouched  too  in  his  lair. 

His  garb  was  simple,  and  His  sandals  worn ; 

His  stature  model'd  with  a  perfect  grace ; 

His  countenance  the  impress  of  a  God, 

Touch' d  with  the  opening  innocence  of  a  child ; 

His  eye  was  blue  and  calm,  as  is  the  sky 

In  the  serenest  noon ;  His  hair  unshorn 

Fell  to  his  shoulders ;  and  His  curling  beard 

The  fullness  of  perfected  manhood  bore. 

He  look'd  on  Helon  earnestly  awhile, 

As  if  His  heart  were  moved,  and,  stooping  down, 

He  took  a  little  water  in  His  hand 

And  laid  it  on  his  brow,  and  said,  "  Be  clean !  " 

And  lo !  the  scales  fell  from  him,  and  his  blood 

Coursed  with  delicious  coolness  through  his  veins, 

And  his  dry  palms  grew  moist,  and  on  his  brow 

The  dewy  softness  of  an  infant's  stole. 

His  leprosy  was  cleansed,  and  he  fell  down 

Prostrate  at  Jesus'  feet  and  worshipp'd  him. 

N.  P.  Willis. 


l&xxxxxt 


"  Verily  I  say  unto  you,  I  have  not  found  so  great  faith,  no  not  in  Israel.—  Si. 
MATTHEW  viii.  10. 

I  MARK'D  a  rainbow  in  the  north, 

What  time  the  wild  autumnal  sun 
From  his  dark  veil  at  noon  look'd  forth, 

As  glorying  in  his  course  half  don 
Flinging  soft  radiance  far  and  wide 
Over  the  dusky  heaven  and  bleak  hill-side. 

It  was  a  gleam  to  Memory  dear, 

And  as  I  walk  and  muse  apart, 
When  all  seems  faithless  round  and  drear, 

I  would  revive  it  in  my  heart, 
And  watch  how  light  can  find  its  way 
To  regions  farthest  from  the  fount  of  day. 

Light  flashes  in  the  gloomiest  sky 
And  music  in  the  dullest  plain, 
For  there  the  lark  is  soaring  high 
Over  her  flat  and  leafless  reign, 
And  chanting  in  so  blithe  a  tone, 
It  shames  the  weary  heart  to  feel  itself  alone. 

66 


THE     GOOD     CENTURION.  69 

Brighter  than  rainbow  in  the  north, 

More  cheery  than  the  matin  lark, 
Is  the  soft  gleam  of  Christian  worth, 

Which  on  some  holy  house  we  mark, 
Dear  to  the  pastor's  aching  heart 
To  think,  where'er  he  looks,  such  gleam  may  have  a  part ; 


May  dwell  unseen  by  all  but  Heaven, 
Like  diamond  blazing  in  the  mine  ; 

For  ever,  where  such  grace  is  given, 
It  fears  in  open  day  to  shine, 

Lest  the  deep  stain  it  owns  within 
Break  out,  and  Faith  be  shamed  by  the  believer's  sin. 


In  silence  and  afar  they  wait, 

To  find  a  prayer  their  Lord  may  hear : 

Voice  of  the  poor  and  desolate, 
You  best  may  bring  it  to  his  ear. 

Your  grateful  intercessions  rise 
With  more  than  royal  pomp,  and  pierce  the  skies. 


Happy  the  soul,  whose  precious  cause 
You  in  the  sovereign  presence  plead — 

"  This  is  the  lover  of  thy  laws, 
The  friend  of  thine  in  fear  and  need  " 

For  to  the  poor  thy  mercy  lends 
That  solemn  style,  "  thy  nation  and  thy  friends." 


70  THE     GOOD     CENTURION. 

He  is  too  blest,  whose  outward  eye 
The  graceful  lines  of  art  may  trace, 

While  his  free  spirit,  soaring  high, 
Discerns  the  glorious  from  the  base  ; 

Till  out  of  dust  his  magic  raise 
A  home  for  prayer  and  love,  and  full  harmonious  praise. 


Where  far  away  and  high  above, 
In  maze  on  maze  the  tranced  sight 

Strays,  mindful  of  that  heavenly  love 
Which  knows  no  end  in  depth  or  height, 

While  the  strong  breath  of  Music  seems 
To  waft  us  ever  on,  soaring  in  blissful  dreams. 


What  though  in  poor  and  humble  guise 
Thou  here  didst  sojourn,  cottage-born  ? 

Yet  from  thy  glory  in  the  skies 

Our  earthly  gold  Thou  dost  not  scorn, 

For  Love  delights  to  bring  her  best, 
And  where  Love  is,  that  offering  evermore  is  blest. 


Love  on  the  Saviour's  dying  head 

Her  spikenard  drops  unblamed  may  pour, 

May  mount  his  cross,  and  wrap  him,  dead, 
In  spices  from  the  golden  shore ; 

Risen,  may  embalm  his  sacred  name 
With  all  a  Painter's  art,  and  all  a  Minstrel's  flame. 


THE  GOOD   CENTURION.  71 

Worthless  and  lost  our  offerings  seem, 

Drops  in  the  ocean  of  his  praise ; 
But  Mercy  with  her  genial  beam 

Is  ripening  them  to  pearly  blaze, 
To  sparkle  in  his  crown  above, 
Who  welcomes  here  a  child's  as  there  an  angel's  love. 

John  Keble. 


Widow  nf  Barn, 


And  he  said,  "  Young  man,  I  say  unto  thee,  Arise."    And  he  that  was  dead 
pat  up,  and  began  to  speak. — LUKE,  vii,  15 


THE  Roman  sentinel  stood  helm'd  and  tall 
Beside  the  gate  of  Nain.     The  busy  tread 
Of  comers  to  the  city  mart  was  done, 
For  it  was  almost  noon,  and  a  dead  heat 
Quiver'd  upon  the  fine  and  sleeping  dust, 
And  the  cold  snake  crept  panting  from  the  wall, 
And  bask'd  his  scaly  circles  in  the  sun. 
Upon  his  spear  the  soldier  lean'd,  and  kept 
His  idle  watch,  and,  as  his  drowsy  dream 
Was  broken  by  the  solitary  foot 
Of  some  poor  mendicant,  he  raised  his  head 
To  curse  him  for  a  tributary  Jew, 
And  shimberously  dozed  on. 

'Twas  now  high  noon  ; 
The  dull,  low  murmur  of  a  funeral 
Went  through  the  city — the  sad  sound  of  feet, 
Unmix'd  with  voices — and  the  sentinel 
Shook  off  his  slumber,  and  gazed  earnestly 
Up  the  wide  streets  along  whose  paved  way 

7? 


THE  WIDOW  OF  NAIN.  73 

The  silent  throng  crept  slowly.     They  came  on, 

Bearing  a  body  heavily  on  its  bier, 

And  by  the  crowd  that  in  the  burning  sun, 

Walk'd  with  forgetful  sadness,  'twas  of  one 

Mourn' d  with  uncommon  sorrow.     The  broad  gate 

Swung  on  its  hinges,  and  the  Roman  bent 

His  spear-point  downwards  as  the  bearers  pass'd, 

Bending  beneath  their  burden.     There  was  one — 

Only  one  mourner.     Close  behind  the  bier, 

Crumpling  the  pall  up  hi  her  wither 'd  hands, 

Follow'd  an  aged  woman.     Her  short  steps 

Falter' d  with  weakness,  and  a  broken  moan 

Fell  from  her  lips,  thicken' d  convulsively 

As  her  heart  bled  afresh.     The  pitying  crowd 

Follow'd  apart,  but  no  one  spoke  to  her. 

She  had  no  kinsmen.     She  had  lived  alone — 

A  widow  with  one  son.     He  was  her  all — 

The  only  tie  she  had  in  the  wide  world— 

And  he  was  dead.     They  could  not  comfort  her. 

Jesus  drew  near  to  Nain  as  from  the  gate 
The  funeral  came  forth.     His  lips  were  pale 
With  the  noon's  sultry  heat.    The  beaded  sweat 
Stood  thickly  on  his  brow,  and  on  the  worn 
And  simple  latchets  of  his  sandals  lay, 
Thick,  the  white  dust  of  travel.     He  had  como 
Since  sunrise  from  Capernaum,  staying  not 
To  wet  his  lips  by  green  Bethsaida's  pool, 
Nor  wash  his  feet  in  Kishon's  silvor  springs, 
Nor  turn  him  southward  upon  TavX)r's  side 


74  THE  WIDOW  OF  NAIN. 

To  catch  Gilboa's  light  and  spicy  breeze  ; 
Genesareth  stood  cool  upon  the  east, 
Fast  by  the  sea  of  Galilee,  and  there 
The  weary  traveler  might  bide  till  eve ; 
And  on  the  alders  of  Bethulia's  plains 
The  grapes  of  Palestine  hung  ripe  and  wild ; 
Yet  turn'd  he  not  aside,  but,  gazing  on, 
From  every  swelling  mount  he  saw  afar, 
Amid  the  hills,  the  humble  spires  of  Nain, 
The  place  of  his  next  errand  ;  and  the  path 
Touch' d  not  Bethulia,  and  a  league  away 
Upon  the  east  lay  pleasant  Galilee. 

Forth  from  the  city  gate  the  pitying  crowd 
Follow'd  the  stricken  mourner.     They  came  near 
The  place  of  burial,  and,  with  straining  hands, 
Closer  upon  her  breast  she  clasp' d  the  pall, 
And  with  a  gasping  sob,  quick  as  a  child's, 
And  an  inquiring  wildness  flashing  through 
The  thin  gray  lashes  of  her  fever'd  eyes, 
She  came  where  Jesus  stood  beside  the  way. 
He  look'd  upon  her,  and  his  heart  was  moved. 
"  Weep  not,"  he  said ;  and  as  they  stay'd  the  bier, 
And  at  his  bidding  laid  it  at  his  feet, 
He  gently  drew  the  pall  from  out  her  grasp, 
And  laid  it  back  in  silence  from  the  dead. 
With  troubled  wonder  the  mute  throng  drew  near, 
And  gazed  on  his  calm  looks.     A  minute's  space 
He  ctood  and  pray'd.     Then  taking  the  cold  hand, 
He  sale?,  "Arise ! "     And  instantly  the  breast 


THE   WIDOW   OP  NAIN.  75 

Heaved  in  its  cerements,  and  a  sudden  flush 
Ran  through  the  lines  of  the  divided  lips, 
And  with  a  murmur  of  his  mother's  name, 
He  trembled  and  sat  upright  in  his  shroud. 
And  while  the  mourner  hung  upon  his  neck, 
Jesus  went  calmly  on  his  way  to  Nain. 

N.  P.  Willis. 


of  balm's 


"  What  went  ye  out  into  the  wilderness  for  to  see  ?  "—  LUKE,  vii.  24. 

WHAT  went  ye  out  to  see 

O'er  the  rude  sandy  lee, 
Where  stately  Jordan  flows  by  many  a  palm, 

Or  where  Gennesaret's  wave 

Delights  the  flowers  to  lave, 
That  o'er  her  western  slope  breathe  airs  of  balm  ? 

All  through  the  summer  night, 

Those  blossoms  red  and  bright  * 
Spread  their  soft  breasts,  unheeding,  to  the  breeze, 

Like  hermits  watching  still 

Around  the  sacred  hill, 
Where  erst  our  Saviour  watched  upon  his  knees. 

The  Paschal  moon  above 
Seems  like  a  saint  to  rove, 
Left  shining  in  the  world  with  Christ  alone  : 

*  Rhododendrons  :  with  which  the  western  bank  of  the  lake  is  said  to  be  clothed 
down  to  the  water's  edge. 

7G 


MISSION    OF   JOHN'S    DISCIPLES.  77 

Below,  the  lake's  still  face 
Sleeps  sweetly  in  the  embrace 
Of  mountains  terraced  high  with  mossy  stone. 

Here  may  we  sit  and  dream 

Over  the  heavenly  theme, 
Till  to  our  soul  the  former  days  return ; 

Till  on  the  grassy  bed,* 

Where  thousands  once  He  fed, 
The  world's  incarnate  Maker  we  discern. 

0  cross  no  more  the  main, 

Wandering  so  wild  and  vain, 
To  count  the  reeds  that  tremble  in  the  wind, 

On  listless  dalliance  bound, 

Like  children  gazing  round, 
Who  on  God's  works  no  seal  of  Godhead  find : 

Bask  not  in  courtly  bower, 

Or  sunbright  hall  of  power, 
Pass  Babel  quick,  and  seek  the  holy  land  ; 

From  robes  of  Tyrian  dye 

Turn  with  undazzled  eye 
To  Bethlehem's  glade,  or  Carmel's  haunted  strand. 

Or  choose  thee  out  a  cell 
In  Kedron's  storied  dell, 
Beside  the  springs  of  Love,  that  never  die ; 

*"Now  there  was  much  grass  in  this  place." — ST.  JOHN  vi.  10. 


78  MISSION    OF   JOHN'S    DISCIPLES. 

Among  the  olives  kneel 
The  chill  night-blast  to  feel, 
And  watch  the  moon  that  saw  thy  Master's  agony.* 


Then  rise  at  dawn  of  day, 

And  wind  thy  thoughtful  way, 
Where  rested  once  the  Temple's  stately  shade, 

With  due  feet  tracing  round 

The  city's  northern  bound, 
To  th'  other  holy  garden,  where  the  Lord  was  laid.f 


Who  thus  alternate  see 

His  death  and  victory, 
Rising  and  falling  as  on  angel  wings, 

They,  while  they  seem  to  roam, 

Draw  daily  nearer  home, 
Their  heart  untravel'd  still  adores  the  King  of  kings. 


Or,  if  at  home  they  stay, 

Yet  are  they,  day  by  day, 
In  spirit  journeying  through  the  glorious  land, 

Not  for  light  Fancy's  reed, 

Nor  Honor's  purple  meed, 
Nor  gifted  Prophet's  lore,  nor  Science'  wondrous  wand. 

*The  passovcr,  when  our  Saviour  suffered,  was  always  at  the  full  moon. 

tit  is  worthy  of  notice,  that  gardens  have  been  the  scenes  of  the  three  most  stu 
pendous  events  that  have  occurred  on  earth — the  temptation  and  fall  of  man,  the 
agony  of  the  Son  of  God,  and  his  resurrection  from  the  grave. 


MISSION    OF    JOHN'S    DISCIPLES.  79 

But  more  than  Prophet,  more 

Than  Angels  can  adore 
With  face  unveiPd,  is  He  they  go  to  seek. 

Blessed  be  God,  whose  grace 

Shows  him  in  every  place 
To  homeliest  hearts  of  pilgrims  pure  and  meek. 


And  He  said  to  the  woman,  "  Thy  faith  hath  saved  thee ;  go  in  peace." — LUKI 
yii.  50. 


THE  plaining  murmur  of  the  midnight  wind, 
Like  mournful  music  is  upon  the  air : 
So  sad,  so  sweet,  that  the  eyes  fill'd  with  tears, 
Without  a  cause — ah  !  no,  the  heart  is  heap'd 
So  full  with  perish'd  pleasures,  vain  regrets, 
That  nature  can  not  sound  one  grieving  note 
Upon  her  forest  lyre,  but  still  it  finds 
Mute  echo  in  the  sorrowing  human  heart. 
Now  the  wind  wails  among  the  yellow  leaves^ 
About  to  fall,  over  the  faded  flowers, 
Over  all  summer's  lovely  memories, 
About  to  die  ;  the  year  has  yet  in  store 
A  few  dim  hours,  but  they  are  dark  and  cold  ; 
Sunshine,  green  leaves,  glad  flowers,  they  all  are  gone  ; 
And  it  has  only  left  the  worn-out  soil, 
The  leafless  bough,  and  the  o'er-clouded  sky. 
And  shall  humanity  not  sympathize 
With  desolation  like  its  own  ? 
So  do  our  early  dreams  fade  unfulfill'd ; 
So  does  our  hope  turn  into  memory — 
The  one  so  glad — the  other  such  despair, 


80 


MARY     MAGDALEN.  81 

(For  who  can  find  a  comfort  in  the  past?) 
So  do  our  feelings  harden,  or  decay, 
Encrusting  with  hard  selfishness  too  late, 
Or  bearing  that  deep  wound,  whereof  we  die. 

Where  are  the  buoyant  spirits  of  our  youth  ? 
Where  are  the  dancing  steps,  that  but  kept  time 
To  our  own  inward  gladness — where  the  light 
That  flush' d  the  check  into  one  joyous  rose : 
That  lit  the  lips,  and  fill'd  the  eyes  with  smiles  ? — 
Gone,  gone  as  utterly,  as  singing  birds, 
And  opening  flowers,  and  honey-laden  bees, 
And  shining  leaves,  are  from  yon  forest  gone. 
I  know  this  from  myself — the  words  I  speak 

Were  written  first  with  tears  on  mine  own  heart ; 

And  yet,  albeit,  it  was  a  lovely  time  ! 

Who  would  recall  their  youth,  and  be  again 

The  dreaming — the  believing — the  betray'd  ? 

The  fever ishness  of  hope,  the  agony, 

As  every  disappointment  taught  a  truth — 

For  still  is  knowledge  bought  by  wretchedness — 

Who  could  find  energy  to  bear  again  ? 

Ye  clear  bright  stars,  that  from  the  face  of  heaven 

Shine  out  in  tranquil  loveliness,  how  oft 

Have  ye  been  witness  to  my  passionate  tears ! 

Although  beloved,  and  beautiful,  and  young ; 

Yet  happiness  was  not  with  my  unrest. 

For  I  had  pleasure,  not  content ;  each  wish 

Seem'd  granted,  only  to  be  weariness. 

No  hope  fulfill'd  its  promise ;  and  no  dream 

Was  ever  worth  its  waking  bitterness. 
6 


82  MARY     MAGDALEN. 

Then  there  was  love,  that  crowding  into  one 

All  vanity,  all  sorrow,  all  remorse : 

Till  we  loathe  life,  glad,  beauteous,  hoping  life, 

And  would  be  fain  to  lay  our  burden  down, 

Although  we  might  but  lay  it  in  the  grave, 

All  natural  terror  lost  in  hope  of  peace. 

God  of  those  stars,  to  which  I  once  appealed 

In  a  vain  fantasy  of  sympathy, 

How  wretched  I  have  been?  in  my  few  years ! 

How  have  I  wept  throughout  the  sleepless  nights, 

Then  sank  in  heavy  slumber,  misery  still 

Haunting  its  visions  :  morning's  cold  gray  light 

Waked  me  reluctant,  for  though  sleep  had  been 

Anguish,  yet  I  could  say  it  was  but  sleep. 

And  then  day  came,  with  all  those  vanities 

With  which  our  nature  mocks  its  wretchedness, 

The  toilsome  pleasures,  and  the  dull  pursuits ; 

Efforts  to  fly  ourselves,  and  made  in  vain. 

Too  soon  I  learnt  the  secret  of  our  life, 

That  "  vanity  of  vanities  "  is  writ 

Deep  in  the  hidden  soul  of  human  things  ; 

And  then  I  sank  into  despondency, 

And  lived  from  habit,  not  from  hope  ;  and  fear 

Stood  between  me  and  death,  and  only  fear ; 

I  was  a  castaway :  for,  like  the  fool, 

Within  my  soul  I  said  there  is  no  God. 

But  then  a  mighty  and  a  glorious  voice 

Was  speaking  on  the  earth — thus  said  the  Lord, 

"  Now  come  to  me,  ye  that  are  heavy  laden, 


MARY    MAGDALEN.  83 

And  I  will  give  you  rest " — and,  lo,  I  came 
Sorrowing, — and  the  broken  contrite  heart, 
Lord,  thou  didst  not  despise.     Now  let  me  weep 
Tears,  and  my  dying  Saviour's  precious  blood 
Will  wash  away  my  sin.     Now  let  me  pray 
In  thankfulness  that  time  is  given  for  prayer ; 
In  hope  that,  offer' d  in  my  ^Saviour's  name, 
I  may  find  favor  in  the  sight  of  God. 
Where  is  my  former  weariness  of  life  ? 
Where  is  my  former  terror  of  the  grave  ? 
Out  of  my  penitence  there  has  grown  hope ; 
I  trust,  and  raise  my  suppliant  eyes  to  heaven ; 
And,  when  my  soul  desponds,  I  meekly  say, 
"  I  know  that  zny  Redeemer  liveth." 

Miss  Landon. 


JSlmst  StUUog  tto  Tempest. 

And  they  being  afraid,  wondered,  saying  one  to  another,  "What  manner  of 
man  is  this !  for  he  commandeth  even  the  winds  and  water,  and  they  obey  him." 
— LUKE  viii.  25. 

FEAR  was  within  the  tossing  bark, 

"When  stormy  winds  grew  loud ; 
And  waves  came  rolling  high  and  dark, 

And  the  tall  mast  was  bowed : 

And  men  stood  breathless  in  their  dread, 

And  baffled  in  their  skill — 
But  One  was  there,  who  rose  and  said 

To  the  wild  sea,  "  Be  still ! " 

And  the  wind  ceased — it  ceased  ! — that  word 

Passed  through  the  gloomy  sky  ; 
The  troubled  billows  knew  their  Lord, 

And  sank  beneath  his  eye. 

A.nd  slumber  settled  on  the  deep, 

And  silence  on  the  blast, 
As  when  the  righteous  falls  asleep, 

When  death's  fierce  throes  are  past. 

84 


CHRIST     STILLING    THE     TEMPEST.  85 

Thou  that  didst  rule  the  angry  hour, 

And  tanie  the  tempest's  mood, 
Oh !  send  thy  spirit  forth  in  power, 

O'er  our  dark  souls  to  brood  ! 

Thou  that  didst  bow  the  billows'  pride, 

Thy  mandates  to  fulfill, 
Speak,  speak,  to  passion's  raging  tide, 

Speak  and  say — "  Peace,  be  still ! " 

Mrs.  Hemans. 


af  ths  Baug&tsr  af  ifairas, 


Behold,  there  came  a  certain  ruler,  and  worshiped  him,  saying,  "  My  daughter 
Ls  even  now  dead :  but  come  and  lay  thy  hand  upon  her,  and  she  shall  live. — ST. 
MATTHEW  ix.  1 8. 


FRESHLY  the  cool  breath  of  the  coming  evo 
Stole  through  the  lattice,  and  the  dying  girl 
Felt  it  upon  her  forehead.     She  had  lain 
Since  the  hot  noontide  in  a  breathless  trance — 
Her  thin,  pale  fingers  clasp'd  within  the  hand 
Of  the  heart-broken  Ruler,  and  her  breast, 
Like  the  dead  marble,  white  and  motionless. 
The  shadow  of  a  leaf  lay  on  her  lips, 
And,  as  it  stirr'd  with  the  awakening  wind, 
The  dark  lids  lifted  from  her  languid  eyes, 
And  her  slight  fingers  moved,  and  heavily 
She  turned  upon  her  pillow.     He  was  there — 
The  same  loved,  tireless  watcher,  and  she  look'd 
Into  his  face  until  her  sight  grew  dim 
*With  the  fast-falling  tears  ;  and,  with  a  sigh 
Of  tremulous  weakness  murmuring  his  name, 
She  gently  drew  his  hand  upon  her  lips, 
And  kiss'd  it  as  she  wept.     The  old  man  sunk 
Upon  liis  knees,  and  in  the  drapery 

Of  the  rich  curtains  buried  up  his  face  ; 

36 


HEALING   OF  THE   DAUGHTER   OP   JAIEU8.  87 

And  when  the  twilight  fell,  the  silken  folds 
Stirr'd  with  his  prayer,  but  the  slight  hand  he  held 
Had  ceased  its  pressure — and  he  could  not  hear, 
In  the  dead,  utter  silence,  that  a  breath 
Came  through  her  nostrils — and  her  temples  gave 
To  his  nice  touch  no  pulse — and,  at  her  mouth, 
He  held  the  lightest  curl  that  on  her  neck 
Lay  with  a  mocking  beauty,  and  his  gaze 
Arched  with  its  deathly  stillness. 

It  was  night — 

And,  softly,  o'er  the  Sea  of  Galilee, 
Danced  the  breeze-ridden  ripples  to  the  shore, 
Tipp'd  with  the  silver  sparkles  of  the  moon. 
The  breaking  waves  play'd  low  upon  the  beach 
'Their  constant  music,  but  the  air  beside 
Was  still  as  starlight,  and  the  Saviour's  voice, 
In  its  rich  cadences  unearthly  sweet, 
Seem'd  like  some  just-born  harmony  in  the  air, 
Waked  by  the  power  of  wisdom.     On  a  rock, 
With  the  broad  moonlight  falling  on  his  brow, 
He  stood  and  taught  the  people.     At  his  feet 
Lay  his  small  scrip,  and  pilgrim's  scallop-shelle 
And  staff — for  they  had  waited  by  the  sea 
Till  he  came  o'er  from  Gadarene,  and  pray'd 
For  his  wont  teachings  as  he  came  to  land. 
His  hair  was  parted  meekly  on  his  brow, 
And  the  long  curls  from  off  his  shoulders  fell, 
As  he  lean'd  forward  earnestly,  and  still 
The  same  calm  cadence,  passionless  and  deep— 
And  in  his  looks  the  same  mild  majesty — 


88  HEALING   OF   THE    DAUGHTER   OF   JAIRUS. 

And  in  his  mien  the  sadness  mix'd  with  power — 
Fill'd  them  with  love  and  wonder.     Suddenly, 
As  on  his  words  entrancedly  they  hung, 
The  crowd  divided,  and  among  them  stood 
JAIRUS  THE  RULER.     With  his  flowing  robe 
Gather'd  in  haste  about  his  loins,  he  came, 
And  fix'd  his  eyes  on  Jesus.     Closer  drew 
The  twelve  disciples  to  their  Master's  side ; 
And  silently  the  people  shrunk  away, 
And  left  the  haughty  Ruler  in  the  midst 
Alone.     A  moment  longer  on  the  face 
Of  the  meek  Nazarene  he  kept  his  gaze, 
And,  as  the  twelve  look'  on  him,  by  the  light 
Of  the  clear  moon  they  saw  a  glistening  tear 
Steal  to  his  silver  beard ;  and,  drawing  nigh 
Unto  the  Saviour's  feet,  he  took  the  hem 
Of  his  coarse  mantle,  and,  with  trembling  hands, 
Press'd  it  upon  his  lips,  and  murmur' d  low, 
" Master!  my  daughter 7" 

The  same  silvery  light, 
That  shone  upon  the  lone  rock  by  the  sea, 
Slept  on  the  Ruler's  lofty  capitals, 
As  at  the  door  he  stood,  and  welcomed  in 
Jesus  and  his  disciples.     All  was  still. 
The  echoing  vestibule  gave  back  the  slide 
Of  their  loose  sandals,  and  the  arrowy  beam 
Of  moonlight,  slanting  to  the  marble  floor, 
Lay  like  a  spell  of  silence  in  the  rooms. 
He  trod  the  winding  stair ;  but  ere  he  touch' d 
The  latchet,  from  within  a  whisper  came, 


HEALING   OP  THE   DAUGHTER   OP  JAIRUS.  89 

"Trouble  the  Master  not— for  she  is  dead!" 
And  his  faint  hand  fell  nerveless  at  his  side, 
And  his  steps  falter'd,  and  his  broken  voice 
Choked  in  its  utterance  ;— but  a  gentle  hand 
Was  laid  upon  his  arm,  and  in  his  ear 
The  Saviour's  voice  sank  thrillingly  and  low, 
"  She  is  not  dead — but  sleepeth." 

They  passed  in. 

The  spice-lamps  in  the  alabaster  urns 
Burn'd  dimly,  and  the  white  and  fragrant  smoke 
Curl'd  indolently  on  the  chamber  walls. 
The  silken  curtains  slumbered  in  their  folds — 
Not  even  a  tassel  stirring  in  the  air — 
And,  as  the  Saviour  stood  beside  the  bed, 
And  pray'd  inaudibly,  the  Ruler  heard 
The  quickening  division  of  his  breath 
As  he  grew  earnest  inwardly.     There  came 
A  gradual  brightness  o'er  his  calm,  sad  face ; 
And,  drawing  nearer  to  the  bed,  he  moved 
The  silken  curtains  silently  apart, 
And  look'd  upon  the  maiden. 

Like  a  form 

Of  matchless  sculpture  in  her  sleep  she  lay — 
The  linen  vesture  folded  on  her  breast, 
And  over  it  her  white  transparent  hand, 
The  blood  still  rosy  in  her  tapering  nails. 
A  line  of  pearl  ran  through  her  parted  lips, 
And  in  her  nostrils,  spiritually  thin, 
The  breathing  curve  was  mockingly  like  life ; 
And  round  beneath  the  faintly  tinted  skin 


90  HEALING  OF  THE   DAUGHTER   OP  JAIRUS. 

Ran  the  light  branches  of  the  azure  veins ; 
And  on  her  cheek  the  jet  lash  overlay, 
Matching  the  arches  pencil'd  on  her  brow. 
Her  hair  had  been  unbound,  and  falling  loose 
Upon  her  pillow,  hid  her  small  round  ears 
In  curls  of  glossy  blackness,  and  about 
Her  polish'd  neck,  scarce  touching  it,  they  hung, 
Like  airy  shadows  floating  as  they  slept ; 
'Twas  heavenly  beautiful.     The  Saviour  raised 
Her  hand  from  off  her  bosom,  and  spread  out 
The  snowy  fingers  in  his  palm,  and  said, 
"Maiden!  arise!" — and  suddenly  a  flush 
Shot  o'er  her  forehead,  and  along  her  lips 
And  through  her  cheek  the  rallied  color  ran  ; 
And  the  still  outline  of  her  graceful  form 
Stirr'd  in  the  linen  vesture  ;  and  she  clasp'd 
The  Saviour's  hand,  and  fixing  her  dark  eyes 
Full  on  his  beaming  countenance — AROSE. 

N.  P.  Willis. 


Bartimsus* 


And  Jesus  answered  and  said  unto  him,  "  What  wilt  thou  that  I  should  do 
unto  thee  ?  "  The  blind  man  said  unto  him,  "  Lord  that  I  might  receive  my 
sight."  —  ST.  MARK  x.  51. 

BLIND  Bartimeus  at  the  gates 

Of  Jericho  in  darkness  waits  : 

He  hears  the  crowd  ;  —  he  hears  a  breath 

Say,  "  It  is  Christ  of  Nazareth  !  " 

And  calls,  in  tones  of  agony, 

/we  ! 


The  thronging  multitudes  increase  ; 
Blind  Bartimeus,  hold  thy  peace  ! 
But  still,  above  the  noisy  crowd, 
The  beggar's  cry  is  shrill  and  loud  ; 
Until  they  say,  "  He  calleth  thee  !  " 

QitgcTBij  syeigui,  cpojvsi  as  \ 


Then  saith  the  Christ,  as  silent  stands 
The  crowd,  "  What  wilt  thou  at  my  hands  ?  " 
And  he  replies,  "  0  give  me  light  ! 
Rabbi,  restore  the  blind  man's  sight  !  " 
And  Jesus  answers,  «'  Ynays  : 

fH  irlans  aov  cr^awxt'  ae  ! 

91 


92  BLIND     BARTIMEUS. 

Ye  that  have  eyes,  yet  can  not  see, 
In  darkness  and  in  misery, 
Recall  those  mighty  Voices  Three, 


I,  eysigou,    vnvcys  \ 
*H  nlffng  oov  aeaaxe  ae  ! 


H.  W.  Longfellow. 


The  -Battghte*  of 


But  when  Herod's  birth-day  was  kept,  the  daughter  of  Herodias  danced  before 
them,  and  pleased  Herod.  Whereupon  he  promised,  with  an  oath,  to  give  her 
whatsoever  she  would  ask.  And  she,  being  before  instructed  of  her  mother,  said, 
Give  me  here  John  Baptist's  head  in  a  charger.  And  the  king  was  sorry  :  never 
theless,  for  the  oath's  sake,  and  them  that  sat  with  him  at  meat,  he  commanded  it 
to  be  given  her.  —  ST.  MATTHEW  xiv.  6-9 

SERENE  in  the  moonlight  the  pure  flowers  lay  ; 

All  was  still  save  the  plash  of  the  fountain's  soft  play  ; 

And  white  as  its  foam  gleamed  the  walls  of  the  palace  ; 

But  within  were  hot  lips  quaffing  fire  from  the  chalice  ; 

For  Herod,  the  Tetrarch,  was  feasting  that  night 

The  lords  of  Machserus,  and  brave  was  the  sight  ! 

Yet  mournful  the  contrast,  without  and  within, 

Here  were  purity,  peace  —  there  were  riot  and  sin  ! 

The  vast  and  magnificent  banqueting-room 

Was  of  marble  Egyptian,  in  form  and  in  gloom  ; 

And  around,  wild  and  dark  as  a  demon's  dread  thought, 

Strange  shapes,  full  of  terror,  yet  beauty,  were  wrought. 

Th'  ineffable  sorrow,  that  dwells  in  the  face 

Of  the  Sphynx,  wore  a  soft  and  mysterious  grace, 

Dim,  even  amid  the  full  flood  of  light  poured 

From  a  thousand  high  clustering  lamps  on  the  board  ; 

Those  lamps,  —  each  a  serpent  of  jewels  and  gold,  — 

That  seemed  to  hiss  forth  the  fierce  flame  as  it  rolled. 


94  THE     DAUGHTER    OP    HERODIAS. 

Back  flashed  to  that  ray  the  rich  vessels  that  lay 

Profuse  on  the  tables  in  brilliant  array  ; 

And  clear  through  the  crystal  the  glowing  wine  gleamed, 

And  dazzling  the  robes  of  the  revelers  seemed, 

While  Herod,  the  eagle-eyed,  ruled  o'er  the  scene, 

A  lion  in  spirit,  a  monarch  in  mien. 

The  goblet  was  foaming,  the  revel  rose  high, 
There  were  pride  and  fierce  joy  in  the  haughty  king's  eye, 
For  his  chiefs  and  his  captains  bowed  low  at  his  word, 
And  the  feast  was  right  royal  that  burden'd  the  board. 
Lo  !  light  as  a  star  through  a  gathered  cloud  stealing, 
What  spirit  glanced  in  'mid  the  guard  at  the  door  ? 
Their  stern  bands  divide,  a  fair  figure  revealing ; 
She  bounds,  in  her  beauty,  the  dim  threshold  o'er. 
Her  dark  eyes  are  lovely  with  tenderest  truth ; 
The  bloom  on  her  cheek  is  the  blossom  of  youth ; 
And  a  smile  that  steals  thro'  it,  is  rich  with  the  ray 
Of  a  heart  full  of  love  and  of  innocent  play. 
Soft  fall  her  fair  tresses  her  light  form  around ; 
Soft  fall  her  fair  tresses,  nor  braided  nor  bound ; 
And  her  white  robe  is  loose,  and  her  dimpled  arms  bare : 
For  she  is  but  a  child,  without  trouble  or  care  ; 
Now  round  the  glad  vision  wild  music  is  heard, — 
Is  she  gifted  with  winglets  of  fairy  or  bird  ? 
For,  lo !  as  if  borne  on  the  waves  of  that  sound, 
With  white  arms  upwreathing,  she  floats  from  the  ground. 
Still  glistens  the  goblet, — 'tis  heeded  no  more ! 
And  the  jest  and  the  song  of  the  banquet  are  o'er  ; 
For  the  revelers,  spell-bound  by  beauty  and  grace, 
Have  forgotten  all  earth,  save  that  form  and  that  face. 
It  is  done ! — for  one  moment,  mute,  motionless,  fair, 


THE     DAUGHTER    OF     HERODIAS.  95 

The  phantom  of  light  pauses  playfully  there ; 

The  next,  blushing  richly,  once  more  it  takes  wing, 

And  she  kneels  at  the  footstool  of  Herod  the  King. 

Her  young  head  is  drooping,  her  eyes  are  bent  low, 

Her  hands  meekly  crossed  on  her  bosom  of  snow, 

And,  veiling  her  figure,  her  shining  hair  flows, 

While  Herod,  flushed  high  with  the  revel,  arose. 

Outspake  the  rash  monarch, — "  Now,  maiden,  impart, 

Ere  thou  leave  us,  the  loftiest  hope  of  thy  heart ! 

By  the  God  of  my  fathers !  whate'er  it  may  be, — 

To  the  half  of  my  kingdom, — 'tis  granted  to  thee! " 

The  girl,  half-bewildered,  uplifted  her  eyes, 

Dilated  with  timid  delight  and  surprise, 

And  a  swift,  glowing  smile  o'er  her  happy  face  stole, 

As  if  some  sunny  wish  had  just  woke  in  her  soul. 

Will  she  tell  it  ?     Ah,  no !     She  has  caught  the  wild  gleam 

Of  a  soldier's  dark  eye,  and  she  starts  from  her  dream ; 

Falters  forth  her  sweet  gratitude, — veils  her  fair  frame, — 

And  glides  from  the  presence,  all  glowing  with  shame. 

Of  costly  cedar,  rarely  carved, 

The  royal  chambers  ceiling, 
The  columned  walls,  of  marble  rich, 

Its  brightest  hues  revealing ; 
Around  the  room  a  starry  smile 

The  lamp  of  crystal  shed  ; 
But  warmest  lay  its  lustre  on 

A  noble  lady's  head  ; 
Her  dark  hair  bound  with  burning  gems 

Whose  fitful  lightning-glow, 


96  THE     DAUGHTER    OF     HERODIAS. 

Is  tame  beside  the  wild,  black  eyes 

That  proudly  flash  below  : 
The  Jewish  rose  and  olive  blend 

Their  beauty  in  her  face ; 
She  bears  her  in  her  high  estate, 

With  an  imperial  grace  ; 
All  gorgeous  glows  with  orient  gold 

The  broidery  of  her  vest ; 
With  precious  stones  its  purple  fold 

Is  clasped  upon  her  breast ; 
She  gazes  from  her  lattice  forth : 

What  sees  the  lady  there  ? 
A  strange,  wild  beauty  crowns  the  scene,- 

But  she  has  other  care  ! 
Far  off  fair  Moab's  emerald  slopes, 

And  Jordan's  lovely  vale  ; 
And  nearer, — heights  where  fleetest  foot 

Of  wild  gazelle  would  fail ; 
While  crowning  every  verdant  ridge, 

Like  drifts  of  moonlit  snow, 
Rich  palaces  and  temples  rise 

Around,  above,  below, 
Gleaming  through  groves  of  terebinth, 

Of  palm,  and  sycamore, 
Where  the  swift  torrents  dashing  free, 

Their  mountain  music  pour ; 
And  arched  o'er  all,  the  eastern  heaven 

Lights  up  with  glory  rare 
The  landscape's  wild  magnificence  ; — 

But  she  has  other  care ! 


THE  DAUGHTER  OF  HERODIAS.          97 

Why  flings  she  thus,  with  gesture  fierce, 
Her  silent  lute  aside  ? 
Some  deep  emotion  chafes  her  soul 

With  more  than  wonted  pride  ; 
But,  hark  !  a  sound  has  reached  her  heart, 

Inaudible  elsewhere, 
And  hushed  to  melting  tenderness, 

The  storm  of  passion  there ! 
Tho  far-off  fall  of  fairy  feet, 

That  fly  in  eager  glee, 
A  voice  that  warbles  wildly  sweet, 

Some  Jewish  melody ! 
She  comes  !  her  own  Salome"  comes ! 

Her  pure  and  blooming  child  ! 
She  comes  and  anger  yields  to  love, 

And  sorrow  is  beguiled : 
Her  singing  bird !  low  nestling  now 

Upon  the  parent  breast, 
She  murmurs  of  the  monarch's  vow 

With  girlish  laugh  and  jest : — 

"  Now  choose  me  a  gift  and  well ! 

There  are  so  many  joys  I  covet ! 
Shall  1  ask  for  a  young  gazelle  ? 

'Twould  be  more  than  the  world  to  me, 
Fleet  and  wild  as  the  wind, 

Oh !  how  I  would  cherish  and  love  it ! 
With  flowers  its  neck  I'd  bind, 

And  joy  in  its  graceful  glee. 


98  THE    DAUGHTER     OF    HERODIAS. 

"  Shall  I  ask  for  a  gem  of  light, 

To  braid  in  my  flowing  ringlets  ? 
Like  a  star  through  the  veil  of  night, 
Would  glisten  its  glorious  hue  ; 
Or  a  radiant  bird,  to  close 

Its  beautiful,  waving  winglcts 
On  my  bosom  in  soft  repose, 

And  share  my  love  with  you  ! 

She  paused, — bewildered,  terror-struck  ; 

For,  in  her  mother's  soul, 
Roused  by  the  promise  of  the  king, 

Beyond  her  weak  control, 
The  exulting  tempest  of  Revenge 

And  Pride  raged  wild  and  high, 
And  sent  its  storm-cloud  to  her  brow, 

Its  lightning  to  her  eye ! 
Her  haughty  lip  was  quivering 

With  anger  and  disdain, 
Her  beauteous,  jeweled  hands  were  clenched 

As  if  from  sudden  pain. 

"  Forgive,"  Salom6  faltering  cried, 

"  Forgive  my  childish  glee  ! 
'Twas  selfish,  vain, — oh !  look  not  thus, 

But  let  me  ask  for  ihee  /" 
Then  smiled, — it  was  a  deadly  smile, — 

That  lady  on  her  child, 
And,  "  Swear  thou'lt  do  my  bidding,  now  !  " 


THE    DAUGHTER    OP     HERODIAS.  99 

She  cried,  in  accents  wild : 
"  Ah !  when,  from  earliest  childhood's  hour, 

Did  I  thine  anger  dare  ! 
Yet,  since  an  oath  thy  wish  must  seal, — 

By  Judah's  hopes,  I  swear ! " 
Herodias  stooped,— one  whisper  brief! — 

Was  it  a  serpent's  hiss, 
That  thus  the  maiden  starts  and  shrinks 

Beneath  the  woman's  kiss  ? 
A  moment's  pause  of  doubt  and  dread ! 

Then  wild  the  victim  knelt,— 
"  Take,  take  my  worthless  life  instead ! — 

Oh  !  if  thou  e'er  hast  felt 
A  mother's  love, — thou  cants  not  doom — 

No,  no  !  'twas  but  a  jest ! 
Speak  f — speak  !  and  let  me  fly  once  more, 

Confiding,  to  thy  breast !  " 
A  hollow  and  sepulchral  tone 

Was  hers  who  made  reply  : 
"The  oath  !  the  oath !— remember,  girl ! 

'Tis  registered  on  high  !  " 
Salom6  rose, — mute,  moveless  stood 

As  marble,  save  in  breath, 
Half  senseless  in  her  cold  despair, 

Her  young  cheek  blanched  like  death — 
But  an  hour  since,  so  joyous,  fond, 

Without  a  grief  or  care, 
Now  struck  with  wo  unspeakable, — 

How  dread  a  change  was  there  ! 
"  It  shall  be  done  !  "—Was  that  the  voice 


100  THE     DAUGHTER     OF     HERODIAS. 

That  rang  so  gaily  sweet, 
When,  innocent  and  blest,  she  carne, 

But  now,  with  flying  feet  ? 
"  It  shall  be  done  !  " — She  turns  to  go, 

But,  ere  she  gains  the  door, 
One  look  of  wordless,  deep  reproach 

She  backward  casts, — no  more ! 
But  late  she  sprang  the  threshold  o'er, 

A  light  and  blooming  child, 
Now,  reckless,  in  her  grief  she  goes 

A  woman  stern  and  wild. 

With  pallid  cheek,  disheveled  hair, 

And  wildly  gleaming  eyes, 
Once  more  before  the  banqueters, 

A  fearful  phantom  flies  ; 
Once  more  at  Herod's  feet  it  falls, 

And  cold  with  nameless  dread, 
The  wondering  monarch  bends  to  hear, 

A  voice,  as  from  the  dead. 
From  those  pale  lips  shrieks  madly  forth, — 

"  Thy  promise,  king,  I  claim, 
And  if  the  grant  be  foulest  guilt,— 

Not  mine,  not  mine  the  blame  ! 
Quick,  quick  recall  that  reckless  vow, 

Or  strike  thy  dagger  here, 
Ere  yet  this  voice  demands  a'gift 

That  chills  my  soul  with  fear  ! 
Heaven's  curse  upon  the  fatal  grace 

That  idly  charmed  thine  eyes ! 


THE     DAUGHTER    OF    HERODIAS.  101 

Oh !  better  had  I  ne'er  been  born 

Than  be  the  sacrifice  ! 
The  word  I  speak  will  blanch  thy  cheek, 

If  human  heart  be  thine ; 
It  was  a  fiend  in  human  form 

That  murmured  it  to  mine. 
To  die  for  me  !  a  thoughtless  child ! 

For  me  must  blood  be  shed ! 
Bend  low, — lest  angels  hear  me  ask  ! — 

Oh !  God  I— the  Baptist's  head! 

Frances  S.  Osgood. 


m 


But  Jesus  said  unto  them,  "They  need  not  depart;  give  ye  them  to  eat." 
And  they  said  unto  him,  "  We  have  here  but  five  loaves,  and  two  fishes."  He 
said  "  Bring  them  hither  to  me."  And  he  commanded  the  multitude  to  sit  down 
on  the  grass,  and  took  the  five  loaves,  and  the  two  fishes/  and  looking  up  to 
hoavcn,  he  blessed  and  brake,  and  gave  the  loaves  to  his  disciples,  and  the  disci 
ples  to  the  multitude.  And  they  did  all  cat,  and  were  filled  ;  and  they  took  up  of 
the  fragments  that  remained  twelve  baskets  full.  And  they  that  had  eaten  were 
about  five  thousand  men,  besides  women  and  children. — ST.  MATTHEW  xiv.  16-21. 


A  VOICE  amid  the  desert. 

Not  of  him 

Who,  in  rough  garments  clad,  and  locust-fed, 
Cried  to  the  sinful  multitude,  and  claim'd 
Fruits  of  repentance,  with  the  lifted  scourge 
Of  terror  and  reproof.     A  milder  guide, 
With  gentler  tones,  doth  teach  the  listening  throng. 
Benignant  pity  moved  him  as  he  saw 
The  shepherdless  and   poor.     He  knew  to  touch 
The  springs  of  every  nature.     The  high  lore 
Of  Heaven  he  humbled  to  the  simplest  child, 
And  in  the  guise  of  parable  allured 
The  sluggish  mind  to  follow  truth  and  live. 

102 


BREAD     IN     THE     WILDERNESS.       • 

They  whom  the  thunders  of  the  Law  had  stunn'd 
Woke  to  the  Gospel's  melody  with  tears ; 
And  the  glad  Jewish  mother  held  her  babe 
High  in  her  arms,  that  its  young  eye  might  meet 
Jesus  of  Nazareth. 

It  was  so  still, 

Though  thousands  cluster' d  there,  that  not  a  sound 
Brake  the  strong  spell  of  eloquence  which  held 
The  wilderness  in  chains,  save  now  and  then, 
As  the  gale  freshen' d,  came  the  murmur 'd  speech 
Of  distant  billows,  chafing  with  the  shores 
Of  the  Tiberian  Sea. 

Day  wore  apace, 

Noon  hasted,  and  the  lengthening  shadows  brought 
The  unexpected  eve.     They  linger' d  still, 
Eyes  fix'd  and  lips  apart ;  the  very  breath 
Constrained,  lest  some  escaping  sigh  might  break 
The  tide  of  knowledge,  sweeping  o'er  their  souls 
Like  a  strange,  raptured  dream.     They  heeded  not 
The  spent  sun,  closing  at  the  cur  tain' d  west 
His  burning  journey.     What  was  time  to  them, 
Who  heard  entranced  the  eternal  Word  of  Life  ? 

But  the  weak  flesh  grew  weary.     Hunger  came, 
Sharpening  each  feature,  and  to  faintness  drain' d 
Life's  vigorous  fount.     The  holy  Saviour  felt 
Compassion  for  them.     His  disciples  press, 
Care-stricken,  to  his  side  :  "Where  shall  we  find 
Bread  in  this  desert  ?  " 

Then,  with  lifted  eye, 
He  bless'd,  and  brake,  the  slender  store  of  food, 


103 


104  BREAD     IN    THE    WILEBNESS. 

And  fed  the  famish' d  thousands.     Wondering  awe 
With  renovated  strength  inspired  their  souls, 
As,  gazing  on  the  miracle,  they  mark'd 
The  gather'd  fragments  of  their  feast,  and  heard 
Such  heavenly  words  as  lip  of  mortal  man 
Had  never  uttered. 

Thou,  whose  pitying  heart 
Yearn'd  o'er  the  countless  miseries  of  those 
Whom  thou  didst  die  to  save,  touch  thou  our  souls 
With  the  same  spirit  of  untiring  love. 
Divine  Redeemer !  may  our  fellow-man, 
Howe'er  by  rank  or  circumstance  disjoined, 
Be  as  a  brother  in  his  hour  of  need. 

L.  H.  Sigourney. 


The  Imj  with  the  Five  Laaves. 


WHAT  time  the  Saviour  spread  his  feast 
For  thousands  on  the  mountain's  side, 

One  of  the  last  and  least 
The  abundant  store  supplied. 


Haply  the  wonders  to  behold 
A  boy,  'mid  other  boys  he  came, 

A  lamb  of  Jesus'  fold, 

Though  now  unknown  by  name. 


Or  for  his  sweet,  obedient  ways, 

The  Apostles  brought  him  near,  to  share 
Their  Lord's  laborious  days, 

His  frugal  basket  bear. 


Or  might  it  be  his  duteous  heart 

That  led  him  sacrifice  to  bring, 
For  his  own  simple  part 

To  the  world's  hidden  King? 

105 


106      THE  BOY  WITH  THE  FIVE  LOAVES. 

Well  may  I  guess  how  glowed  his  cheek ; 

How  he  looked  down,  half  pride,  half  fear 
Far  off  he  saw  one  speak 

Of  him  in  Jesus'  ear. 

"  There  is  a  lad,  five  loaves  hath  he, 
And  fishes  twain,  but  what  are  they 

Where  hungry  thousands  be  ?  " 
Nay,  Christ  will  find  a  way. 

In  order,  on  the  fresh  green  hill, 

The  mighty  shepherd  ranks  his  sheep, 

By  tens  and  fifties,  still 

As  clouds  when  breezes  sleep. 

Or  who  can  tell  the  trembling  joy — 
Who  paint  the  grave,  endearing  look, 

When  from  that  favored  boy 
The  wondrous  pledge  he  took  ? — 

Keep  thou  dear  child  thine  early  word ; 

Bring  Him  thy  best :  who  knows  but  He 
For  his  eternal  board 

May  take  some  gift  of  thec  ? 

Thou  prayest  without  the  veil  as  yet : 
But  kneel  in  faith  :  an  arm  benign 

Such  prayers  will  duly  set 
Within  the  holiest  shrine. 


THE     BOY     WITH     THE     FIVE     LOAVES.  107 

And  prayer  has  might  to  spread  and  grow, 
Thy  childish  darts,  right-aimed  on  high 

May  catch  Heaven's  lire,  and  glow 
Far  on  the  eternal  sky : 

Even  as  he  made  that  stripling's  store 

Type  of  the  feast  by  him  decreed, 
When  Angels  might  adore 

And  souls  forever  feed. 

Lyra  Innocentium. 


xm  l&$  lisa, 


But  he  saith  unto  them,  "  It  is  I ;  be  not  afraid."— JOHN  vi.  20. 

WHEN  the  storm  of  the  mountains  on  Galilee  fell, 

And  lifted  its  waters  on  high ; 
And  the  faithless  disciples  were  bound  in  the  spell 
Of  mysterious  alarm — their  terrors  to  quell, 

Jesus  whispered,  "  Fear  not,  it  is  I." 

The  storm  could  not  bury  that  word  in  the  wave, 

For  'twas  taught  through  the  tempest  to  fly ; 
It  shall  reach  his  disciples  in  every  clime, 
And  his  voice  shall  be  near  in  each  troublous  time, 
Saying,  "  Be  not  afraid,  it  is  I." 


When  the  spirit  is  broken  with  sickness  or  sorrow, 

And  comfort  is  ready  to  die ; 

The  darkness  shall  pass,  and  in  gladness  to-morrow, 
The  wounded  complete  consolation  shall  borrow 

From  his  life-giving  word,  "  It  is  I." 

108 


WALKING     ON    THE    SEA.  109 

When  death  is  at  hand,  and  the  cottage  of  clay 

Is  left  with  a  tremulous  sigh, 
The  gracious  forerunner  is  smoothing  the  way 
For  its  tenant  to  pass  to  unchangeable  day, 

Saying,  "  Be  not  afraid,  it  is  I." 


When  the  waters  are  passed,  and  the  glories  unknown 

Burst  forth  on  the  wondering  eye, 
The  compassionate  "  Lamb  in  the  midst  of  the  throne  " 
Shall  welcome,  encourage,  and  comfort  his  own, 

And  say,  "  Be  not  afraid,  it  is  I." 

Hawthorne. 


Beaf  a»a  Bumk 


And  Jesus  answering,  said,  "  O  faithless  and  perverse  generation !  how  long 
shall  I  be  with  you  and  suffer  you  ?  Bring  thy  son  hither."  And  as  he  was  yet 
a  coming,  the  devil  threw  him  clown  and  tear  him.  And  Jesus  rebuked  the  unclean 
spirit,  and  healed  the  child,  and  delivered  him  again  to  his  father.— LUKE  ix. 
41,42. 


THE  Son  of  God  in  doing  good 

Was  fain  to  look  to  heaven  and  sigh : 
And  shall  the  heirs  of  sinful  blood 

Seek  joy  unmix' d  in  charity  ? 
God  will  not  let  Love's  work  impart 
Full  solace,  lest  it  steal  the  heart ; 
Be  thon  content  in  tears  to  sow, 
Blessing,  like  Jesus,  in  thy  woe. 

He  look'd  to  heaven,  and  sadly  sigh'd — 

What  saw  my  gracious  Saviour  there, 
With  fear  and  anguish  to  divide 

The  joy  of  heaven-accepted  prayer ! 
So  o'er  the  bed  where  Lazarus  slept 
He  to  his  Father  groaned  and  wept : 
What  saw  he  mournful  in  that  grave, 
Knowing  himself  so  strong  to  save  ? 

110 


THE     DEAF    AND     DUMB.  Ill 

O'erwhelming  thoughts  of  pain  and  grief 

Over  his  sinking  spirits  sweep  ! — 
What  boots  it  gathering  one  lost  leaf 

Out  of  yon  sere  and  wither'd  heap, 
Where  souls  and  bodies,  hopes  and  joys, 
All  that  earth  owns  or  sin  destroys, 
Under  the  spurning  hoof  are  cast, 
Or  tossing  in  the  autumnal  blast  ? " 

The  deaf  may  hear  the  Saviour's  voice, 
The  fetter' d  tongue  its  chain  may  break ; 

But  the  deaf  heart,  the  dumb  by  choice, 
The  laggard  soul,  that  will  not  wake, 

The  guilt  that  scorns  to  be  forgiven  ; 

These  baffle  e'en  the  spells  of  heaven  ; 

In  thought  of  these,  his  brows  benign 

Not  even  in  healing  cloudless  shine. 


No  eye  but  his  might  ever  bear 

To  gaze  all  down  that  drear  abyss, 
Because  none  ever  saw  so  clear 

The  shore  of  endless  bliss  ; 
The  giddy  wave  so  restless  huii'd, 
The  vex'd  pulse  of  this  feverish  world, 
He  views  and  counts  with  steady  sight 
Used  to  behold  the  Infinite. 

But  that  in  such  communion  high 
He  hath  a  fount  of  strength  within, 

Sure  his  meek  heart  would  break  and  die, 
O'erburden'd  by  his  brethren's  sin  ; 


112  THE    DEAF    AND    DUMB. 

Weak  eyes  on  darkness  dare  not  gaze, 
It  dazzles  like  the  noon-day  blaze  ; 
But  he  who  sees  God's  face  may  brook 
On  the  true  face  of  Sin  to  look. 

What  then  shall  wretched  sinners  do, 

When  in  their  last,  their  hopeless  day, 
Sin  as  it  is,  shall  meet  their  view, 
God  turn  his  face  for  aye  away  ? 
Lord,  by  thy  sad  and  earnest  eye, 
When  thou  didst  look  to  heaven  and  sigh ; 
Thy  voice,  that  with  a  word  could  chase 
The  dumb,  deaf  spirit  from  his  place ; 

As  thou  hast  touch' d  our  ears,  and  taught 
Our  tongues  to  speak  thy  praises  plain, 
Quell  thou  each  thankless,  godless  thought 

That  would  make  fast  our  bonds  again. 
From  worldly  strife,  from  mirth  unblest, 
Drowning  thy  music  in  the  breast, 
From  foul  reproach,  from  thrilling  fears, 
Preserve,  good  Lord,  thy  servant's  ears. 

From  idle  words,  that  restless  throng, 

And  haunt  our  hearts  when  we  would  pray 

From  pride's  false  chime,  and  jarring  wrong, 
Seal  thou  my  lips  and  guard  the  way ; 

For  thou  hast  sworn  that  every  ear, 

Willing  or  loth,  thy  trump  shall  hear, 

And  every  tongue  unchained  be 

To  own  no  hope,  no  God,  but  thee. 

Keble. 


Tafem  in 


Jesus  said  unto  them,  "  He  that  is  without  sin  among  you,  let  him  first  cast  a 
stone  at  her.  —  ST.  Jonx  viii.  7. 

WITHOUT  the  city  walls,  the  Son  of  man 
Had  watched  all  night  upon  the  stony  ridge 
Beyond  the  Brook  of  Kedron,  which  o'erlooks 
The  fatal  town,  and  Moriah's  Mount  sublime, 
Crowned  by  the  temple  of  the  living  God, 
And  Siloa's  stream  oracular,  and  the  vale 
Named  of  Jehosaphat,  where  soon  shall  stand 
The  Abomination  making  desolate  — 
There  with  his  Father,  till  the  stars  were  pale, 
In  holiest  commune  on  that  lonely  steep, 
The  Mount  of  Olives. 

Now  the  sun  arose, 

And  through  the  stillness  of  the  early  morn 
Volumed  and  white  up  soared  the  savory  smoke 
Of  morning  sacrifice,  and  pealed  aloft 
The  silver  trumpets  their  sonorous  praise 
O'er  Zion. 

Then  he  ceased  from  prayer,  and  came 
Again  unto  the  temple,  and  went  in, 
And  all  the  people  gathered  to  his  words, 

8  113 


114  THE     WOMAN     TAKEN     IN     ADULTERY. 

Breathless  and  mute  with  awe,  the  while  he  sate 
Teaching. 

But  while  the  sweet  and  solemn  sound, 
The  words  of  Him  who  spake  as  never  man 
Spake,  or  shall  speak,  filled  every  listening  soul 
With  wisdom  that  is  life,  a  throng  of  Scribes 
And  Pharisees  came  hasting  through  the  doors, 
And  haling  a  fair  woman  toward  his  place, 
Set  her  before  him  in  the  midst. 

She  was 

Indeed  most  fair,  and  young,  and  innocent 
To  look  upon.     Alas !  that  such  as  she 
So  should  have  fallen  ! 

Pale  she  stood,  and  mute, 
Her  large,  soft  eyes,  that  wont  to  swim  in  light, 
Burning  with  tearless  torture  ;  cheek  and  brow 
Whiter  than  ashes,  or  the  snow  that  dwells 
On  Sinai.     Thus  she  stood,  a  little  space, 
Gazing  around  with  a  bewildered  glare 
That  had  no  speculation  in  't— 

Then  sank 

In  her  disordered  robes,  a  shapeless  heap, 
At  a  tall  pillar's  base,  her  face  concealed 
In  the  coarse  mufflings  of  her  woolen  gown, 
And  the  redundance  of  her  golden  hair 
Part  fairly  braided,  part  in  wavy  flow 
Disheveled,  over  her  bare  shoulders  spread, 
Purer  than  alabaster — nought  beside 
Exposed,  save  one  round  arm  the  bashful  face 
With  slenderest  fingers  hiding,  while  the  drops 


THE    WOMAN    TAKEN    IN     ADULTERY.  115 

Oozed  through  them  slow  and  silent — she  wept  now. 

When  none  beheld  her! — and  one  rosy  foot, 

Unsandaled,  peering  from  the  ruffled  hem 

Of  her  white  garb — all  else  a  drifted  mass 

Of  draperies  heaving  like  the  ocean's  swell, 

To  that  unspoken  agony  within, 

Which  rent  her  bosom,  unsuspect  of  man, 

But  seen  of  the  All-seeing. 

Up  they  spake — 

"  Master,  this  woman  in  the  act  was  ta'en 
Sinning.     Now  Moses  taught  us  in  the  law, 
That  whoso  doeth  thus  shall  surely  die, 
Stoned  by  the  people — But  what  sayest  thou  ?  " 
Thus  said  they,  tempting  him,  that  they  might  have 
Of  sin  to  accuse  the  sinless. 

Jesus  stooped, 

Silent,  and  with  his  finger  on  the  ground 
Traced  characters,  as  though  he  heard  them  not ; 
But  when  they  asked  again  importunate, 
He  raised  himself  in  perfect  majesty, 
Calm,  and  inscrutable,  reading  their  souls 
With  that  deep  eye  to  which  all  hearts  are  known, 
From  which  no  secrets  can  be  hidden. 

Then, 

"  He  that  is  here,  among  you,  without  sin," 
He  said — "  let  him  first  cast  a  stone  at  her." 
Then  stooped  he  again,  and  on  the  ground 
Wrote  as  before. 

A  mighty  terror  fell 

On  those  which  heard  it,  in  their  secret  souls 
Convicted.     One  by  one,  they  slunk  away, 


11G  THE     WOMAN     TAKEN     IN     ADULTERY. 

The  eldest  first,  as  guiltiest,  to  the  last, 
Till  none  were  left,  but  Jesus  in  the  midst 
Standing  alone,  and  at  the  column's  base, 
The  woman  groveling  like  a  trampled  worm : 
They  two  were  in  the  temple — but  they  two, 
Of  all  the  crowd  that  thronged  it  even  now — 
The  sinful  mortal,  and  her  sinless  God. 

When  Jesus  had  arisen,  and  beheld 
That  none  were  left  of  all,  save  she  alone ; 
"  Woman,"  he  said  unto  her,  "  Woman,  where 
Be  now  those  thine  accusers  ?     Hath  no  man 
Condemned  thcc  ?  " 

And  she  answered — "  No  man,  Lord." 
"Neither  do  I" — Jesus  replied  to  her — 
"  Condemn  thcc.     Go,  and  sin  no  more." 

And  she 

Arose,  and  went  her  way  in  sadness  ;  and 
The  grace  of  Him,  to  whom  the  power  is  given 
To  pardon  sins,  sank  down  into  her  soul, 
Like  gentle  dew  upon  the  drooping  herb, 
That  under  that  good  influence  blooms  again, 
And  sent  its  odors  heavenward — 

And  perchance 

There  was  great  joy  above,  in  those  bright  hosts 
Who  more  rejoice  o'er  one,  that  was  a  slave 
To  sin  and  hath  repented,  than  o'er  ten, 
So  just,  that  they  have  nothing  to  repent. 

Henry  W.  Herbert. 


AM  he  sa>4  unto  l>\m,  '*  Arise,  go  thy  way ;  thy  faith  hath  made  thee  whole." 
-ST.  LUKE  xvii.  19. 


TEN  cleansed,  and  only  one  remain ! 

Who  would  have  thought  our  nature's  stain 

Was  dyed  so  foul,  so  deep  in  grain  ? 

Even  He  who  reads  the  heart,— 
Knows  what  He  gave  and  what  we  lost, 
Shi's  forfeit  and  redemption's  cost, — 
By  a  short  pang  of  wonder  cross'd 

Seems  at  the  sight  to  start. 


Yet  'twas  not  wonder,  but  his  love 
Our  wavering  spirits  would  reprove, 
That  heavenward  seem  so  free  to  move 

When  earth  can  yield  no  more  : 
Then  from  afar  on  God  we  cry  ; 
But  should  the  mist  of  wo  roll  by, 
Not  showers  across  an  April  sky 

Drift  when  the  storm  is  o'er, 

117 


118  THE    TEN    LEPERS. 

Faster  than  those  false  drops  and  few- 
Fleet  from  the  heart,  a  worthless  dew. 
What  sadder  scene  can  angels  view 

Than  self  deceiving  tears, 
Pour'd  idly  over  some  dark  page 
Of  earlier  life,  though  pride  or  rage 
The  record  of  to-day  engage, 

A  woe  for  future  years  ? 

Spirits  that  round  the  sick  man's  bed 
Watch'd,  noting  down  each  prayer  lie  made, 
Were  your  unerring  roll  display'd, 

His  pride  of  health  t'  abase ; 
Or,  when  soft  showers  in  season  fall, 
Answering  a  famish'd  nation's  call, 
Should  unseen  fingers  on  the  wall 

Our  vows  forgotten  trace ; 

How  should  we  gaze  in  trance  of  fear  ! 
Yet  shines  the  light  as  thrilling  clear 
From  heaven  upon  that  scroll  severe, 

"  Ten  cleansed  and  one  remain !  " 
Nor  surer  would  the  blessing  prove 
Of  humbled  hearts,  that  own  thy  love, 
Should  choral  welcome  from  above 

Visit  our  senses  plain : 

Than  by  Thy  placid  voice  and  brow, 
With  healing  first,  with  comfort  now, 
Turn'd  upon  him,  who  hastes  to  bow 


THE    TEN    LEPERS.  119 

Before  Thee,  heart  and  knee  ; 
"  Oh !  thou,  who  only  wouldst  be  blest, 
On  thee  alone  my  blessing  rest ! 
Rise,  go  thy  way  in  peace,  possess'd 

For  evermore  of  me." 

Keble. 


When  Mary  was  come  where  Jesus  was,  and  saw  him,  she  fell  down  at  his  feet, 
«aying  unto  him,  "Lord,  if  thou  hadst  been  here  my  brother  had  not  died.- 
JOIIN  xi.  32. 

JESUS  was  there  but  yesterday.     The  prints 
Of  his  departing  feet  were  at  the  door ; 
His  "  Peace  be  with  you  !  "  was  yet  audible 
In  the  rapt  porch  of  Mary's  charmed  ear ; 
And,  in  the  low  rooms,  'twas  as  if  the  air, 
Hush'd  with  his  going  forth,  had  been  the  breath 
Of  angels  left  on  watch— so  conscious  still 
The  place  seemed  of  his  presence  !     Yet  within, 
The  family  by  Jesus  loved  were  weeping, 
For  Lazarus  lay  dead. 

And  Mary  sat 

By  the  pale  sleeper.     He  was  young  to  die. 
The  countenance  whereon  the  Saviour  dwelt 
With  his  benignant  smile— the  soft  fair  lines 
Breathing  of  hope— were  still  all  eloquent, 
Like  life  well  mock'd  in  marble.     That  the  voice, 
Gone  from  those  pallid  lips,  was  heard  in  heaven, 
Toned  with  unearthly  sweetness— that  the  light, 
Quench'd  in  the  closing  of  those  stirless  lids, 
Was  veiling  before  God  its  timid  fire, 

120 


LAZARUS    AND     MARY.  121 

New-lit  and  brightening  like  a  star  at  eve — 
That  Lazarus,  her  brother,  was  in  bliss, 
Not  with  this  cold  clay  sleeping — Mary  knew ; 
Her  heaviness  of  heart  was  not  for  him ! 
But  close  had  been  the  tie  by  Death  divided. 
The  intertwining  locks  of  that  bright  hair 
That  wiped  the  feet  of  Jesus — the  fair  hands 
Clasp'd  in  her  breathless  wonder  while  he  taught — 
Scarce  to  one  pulse  thrill' d  more  in  unison, 
Than  with  one  soul  this  sister  and  her  brother 
Had  lock'd  their  lives  together.     In  this  love, 
Hallow' d  from  stain,  the  woman's  heart  of  Mary 
Was,  with  its  rich  affections,  all  bound  up. 
Of  an  imblemish'd  beauty,  as  became 
An  office  by  archangels  fill'd  till  now, 
She  walk'd  with  a  celestial  halo  clad ; 
And  while,  to  the  Apostle's  eyes,  it  seem'd 
She  but  fulfilled  her  errand  out  of  heaven — 
Sharing  her  low  roof  with  the  Son  of  God — 
She  was  a  woman  fond  and  mortal  still ; 
And  the  deep  fervor,  lost  to  passion's  fire, 
Breathed  through  the  sister's  tenderness.     In  vain 
Knew  Mary,  gazing  on  that  face  of  clay, 
That  it  was  not  her  brother.     He  was  there — 
Swathed  in  that  linen  vesture  for  the  grave — 
The  same  loved  one  in  all  its  comeliness — 
And  witli  him  to  the  grave  her  heart  must  go. 
What  though  he  talked  to  her  of  angel  ?  nay — 
Hover 'd  in  spirit  near  her  ? — 'twas  that  arm, 
Palsied  in  death,  whose  fond  caress  she  knew ! 
It  was  that  lip  of  marble  with  whose  kiss, 


122  LAZARUS     AND     MARY. 

Morning  and  eve,  love  hemm'd  the  sweet  day 

This  was  the  form  by  the  Judean  maids 

Praised  for  its  palm-like  stature,  as  he  walk'd 

With  her  by  Kedron  in  the  eventide — 

The  dead  was  Lazarus  ! 

The  burial  was  over,  and  the  night 

Fell  upon  Bethany — and  morn — and  noon. 

And  comforters  and  mourners  went  their  way — 

But  death  stay'd  on !     They  had  been  oft  alone, 

When  Lazarus  had  followed  Christ  to  hear 

His  teachings  in  Jerusalem  :  but  this 

Was  more  than  solitude.     The  silence  now 

Was  void  of  expectation.     Something  felt 

Always  before,  and  loved  without  a  name, 

Joy  from  the  air,  hope  from  the  opening  door, 

Welcome  and  life  from  off  the  very  walls, — 

Seem'd  gone — and  in  the  chamber  where  he  lay 

There  was  a  fearful  and  unbrcathing  hush, 

Stiller  than  night's  last  hour.     So  fell  on  Mary 

The  shadows  all  have  known,  who  from  their  hearts 

Have  released  friends  to  heaven.     The  parting  soul 

Spreads  wing  betwixt  the  mourner  and  the  sky ! 

As  if  its  patli  lay,  from  the  tie  last  broken, 

Straight  through  the  cheering  gateway  of  the  sun 

And,  to  the  eye  strain' d  after,  'tis  a  cloud 

That  bars  the  light  from  all  things. 

Now  as  Christ 

Drew  near  to  Bethany,  the  Jews  went  forth 
With  Martha  mourning  Lazarus.     But  Mary 
Sat  in  the  house.     She  knew  the  hour  was  nigh 
When  He  would  go  again,  as  He  had  said, 


LAZARUS     AND     MARY.  123 

Unto  his  Father ;  and  she  felt  that  He, 

Who  loved  her  brother  Lazarus  in  Life, 

Had  chose  the  hour  to  bring  him  home  thro'  Death 

In  no  unkind  forge tfulness.     Alone — 

She  could  lift  up  the  bitter  prayer  to  heaven, 

"  Thy  will  be  done,  0  God  !  "—but  that  dear  brother 

Hath  fill'd  the  cup  and  broke  the  bread  for  Christ, 

And  ever,  at  the  morn,  when  she  had  knelt 

And  wash'd  those  holy  feet,  came  Lazarus 

To  bind  his  sandals  on,  and  follow  forth 

With  dropp'd  eyes,  like  an  angel,  sad  and  fair 

Intent  upon  the  Master's  need  alone. 

Indissolubly  link'd  were  they  !     And  now, 

To  go  to  meet  him — Lazarus  not  there — 

And  to  his  greeting  answer  "  It  is  well  ?  " 

And,  without  tears,  (since  grief  would  trouble  Him 

Whose  soul  was  always  sorrowful,)  to  kneel 

And  minister  alone — her  heart  gave  way  I 

She  cover' d  up  her  face  and  turii'd  again 

To  wait  within  for  Jesus.     But  once  more 

Came  Martha,  saying,  "  Lo  !  the  Lord  is  here 

And  callcth  for  thee,  Mary  !  "     Then  arose 

The  mourner  from  the  ground,  whereon  she  sate 

Shrouded  in  sackcloth,  and  bound  quickly  up 

The  golden  locks  of  her  dishevel' d  hair, 

And  o'er  her  ashy  garments  drew  a  veil 

Hiding  the  eyes  she  could  not  trust.     And  still, 

As  she  made  ready  to  go  forth,  a  calm 

As  in  a  dream  fell  on  her. 

At  a  fount 


124  LAZARUS     AND     MARY. 

Hard  by  the  sepulchre,  without  the  wall, 

Jesus  awaited  Mary.     Seated  near 

Were  the  way-worn  disciples  in  the  shade ; 

But,  of  himself  forgetful,  Jesus  lean'd 

Upon  his  staff,  and  watch' d  where  she  should  come, 

To  whose  one  sorrow — but  a  sparrow's  falling — 

The  pity  that  redeem'd  a  world  could  bleed ! 

And  as  she  came,  with  that  uncertain  step, — 

Eager,  yet  weak,  her  hands  upon  her  breast, — 

And  they  who  follow' d  her  all  fallen  back 

To  leave  her  with  her  sacred  grief  alone, — 

The  heart  of  Christ  was  troubled.     She  drew  near, 

And  the  disciples  rose  up  from  the  fount, 

Moved  by  her  look  of  woe,  and  gather'd  round ; 

And  Mary — for  a  moment — ere  she  look'd 

Upon  the  Saviour,  stay'd  her  faltering  feet, — 

And  straighten'd  her  veil'd  form,  and  tighter  drew 

Her  clasp  upon  the  folds  across  her  breast ; 

Then,  with  a  vain  strife  to  control  her  tears, 

She  stagger' d  to  the  midst,  and  at  His  feet 

Fell  prostrate,  saying,  "  Lord !  hadst  thoit  been  here, 

My  brother  had  not  died  !  "    The  Saviour  groan'd 

In  spirit,  and  stoop'd  tenderly,  and  raised 

The  mourner  from  the  ground,  and  in  a  voice 

Broke  in  its  utterance  like  her  own,  He  said, 

"  Where  have  ye  laid  him  ?  "     Then  the  Jews  who  came, 

Following  Mary,  answer'd  through  their  tears, 

"  Lord,  come  and  see  !  "     But  lo  !  the  mighty  heart 

That  in  Gethsemane  sweat  drops  of  blood, 

Taking  from  us  the  cup  that  might  not  pass — 


LAZARUS     AND     MARY.  125 

The  heart  whose  breaking  cord  upon  the  cross 

Made  the  earth  tremble,  and  the  sun  afraid 

To  look  upon  his  agony— the  heart 

Of  a  lost  world's  Redeemer — overflowed, 

Touched  by  a  mourner's  sorrow !     Jesus  wept. 

Calrn'd  by  those  pitying  tears,  and  fondly  brooding 

Upon  the  thought  that  Christ  so  loved  her  brother, 

Stood  Mary  there  ;  but  that  lost  burden  now 

Lay  on  His  heart  who  pitied  her ;  and  Christ, 

Following  slow  and  groaning  in  Himself, 

Came  to  the  sepulchre.     It  was  a  cave, 

And  a  stone  lay  upon  it.     Jesus  said, 

"  Take  ye  away  the  stone  !  "     Then  lifted  He 

His  moisten' d  eyes  to  heaven,  and  while  the  Jews 

And  the  disciples  bent  their  heads  in  awe, 

And,  trembling,  Mary  sank  upon  her  knees, 

The  Son  of  God  pray'd  audibly.     He  ceased, 

And  for  a  minute's  space  there  was  a  hush, 

As  if  th'  angelic  watchers  of  the  world 

Had  stayed  the  pulses  of  all  breathing  things, 

To  listen  to  that  prayer.     The  face  of  Christ 

Shone  as  he  stood,  and  over  Him  there  came 

Command,  as  'twere  the  living  face  of  God, 

And  with  a  loud  voice,  he  cried,  "  Lazarus  ! 

Come  forth  !  "     And  instantly,  bound  hand  and  foot, 

And  borne  by  unseen  angels  from  the  cave, 

He  that  was  dead  stood  with  them.     At  the  word 

Of  Jesus,  the  fear-stricken  Jews  unloosed 

The  bands  from  off  the  foldings  of  his  shroud ; 

And  Mary,  with  her  dark  veil  thrown  aside, 


126  LAZARUS    AND    MARY. 

Ran  to  him  swiftly,  and  cried,  "  LAZARUS  ! 

MY  BROTHER  LAZARUS  ! "  and  tore  away 

The  napkin  she  had  bound  about  his  head — 

And  touched  the  warm  lips  with  her  fearful  hand — 

And  on  his  neck  fell  weeping.     And  while  all 

Lay  on  their  faces  prostrate,  Lazarus 

Took  Mary  by  the  hand,  and  they  knelt  down 

And  worshiped  Him  who  loved  them. 

N.  P.   Willis. 


Efonst  an  Tafoxxr* 

CHRIST,  our  bliss — all  joys  combining, 
Thy  face  above  the  sun  is  shining, 
A  glittering  robe  thy  form  arrays  ; 
Glory  bright  from  thee  is  beaming, 
The  voice  of  truth  jthy  worth  proclaiming, 
While  from  the  father's  mouth  it  says 
In  love's  endearing  tone : — 

"  This  is  my  only  Son, 

Me  well  pleasing, 

His  wish  regard  !     And  your  reward 

Be  endless  glory  with  the  Lord  ! " 

Can  one  glimpse,  so  quickly  over, 
Suffice  us,  Jesus,  to  discover 
The  splendors  of  thy  high  estate  ? 
All  its  wonders  to  be  telling, 
We  need  to  build  for  thee  a  dwelling, 
And  evermore  around  thee  wait. 
Dear  Saviour,  at  thy  side, 
Joy,  health  and  peace  abide ; 

Hallelujah ! 

Here,  Lord,  with  thee  'tis  good  to  be, 
From  every  care  and  sorrow  free. 


127 


128  CHRIST    ON     TABOR. 

Lord  of  life  to  earth  returning, 
Our  bodies  with  thy  light  adorning, 
Give  us  thy  splendor  then  to  see ! 
When  our  dust  o'er  grave  victorious, 
And  fashioned  like  his  body  glorious, 
Shall  splendid  and  immortal  be, — 
Far  brighter  light  will  shine 
Than,  Tabor,  e'er  was  thine ! 

While  Hosannas 

Of  higher  praise  our  tongues  shall  raise, 
On  Zion's  hill  through  endless  days. 

From  the  German. 


Then  came  to  him  the  mother  of  Zebedee's  children  with  her  sous,  worshiping 
him,  and  desiring  a  certain  thing  of  him.  And  he  said  unto  her,  "  What  wilt 
thou  ?  "  She  saith  unto  him,  "  Grant  that  these  my  two  sons  may  sit,  the  one  on 
thy  right  hand,  and  the  other  on  thy  left,  in  thy  kingdom." — ST.  MATTHEW  xx. 
20,  21. 

SIT  down  and  take  thy  fill  of  joy 

At  God's  right  hand,  a  bidden  guest, 
Drink  of  the  cup  that  can  not  cloy, 

Eat  of  the  bread  that  can  not  waste. 
0  great  apostle  !  rightly  now 

Thou  readest  all  thy  Saviour  meant, 
"What  time  His  grave  yet  gentle  brow 

In  sweet  reproof  on  thee  was  bent. 

"  Seek  ye  to  sit  enthron'd  by  me  ? 

Alas  I  ye  know  not  what  ye  ask  ; 
The  first  in  shame  and  agony, 

The  lowest  in  the  meanest  task — 
This  can  ye  be  ?  and  can  ye  drink 

The  cup  that  I  in  tears  must  steep, 
Nor  from  the  whelming  waters  shrink 

That  o'er  me  roll  so  dark  and  deep  ? " 

9  129 


130  CHRIST    TEACHES    HUMILITY. 

"  We  can — thine  are  we,  dearest  Lord, 

In  glory  and  in  agony, 
To  do  and  suffer  all  Thy  word ; 

Only  be  Thou  for  ever  nigh."- 
"  Then  be  it  so — my  cup  receive, 

And  of  my  woes  baptismal  taste : 
But  for  the  crown,  that  angels  weave 

For  those  next  me  in  glory  placed, 

I  give  it  not  by  partial  love ; 

But  in  my  Father's  book  are  writ 
What  names  on  earth  shall  lowliest  prove, 

That  they  in  Heaven  may  highest  sit." 
Take  up  the  lesson,  0  my  heart ; 

Thou  Lord  of  meekness,  write  it  there, 
Thine  own  meek  self  to  me  impart, 

Thy  lofty  hope,  thy  holy  prayer. 

If  ever  on  the  mount  with  Thee 

I  seem  to  soar  in  vision  bright, 
With  thoughts  of  coming  agony 

Stay  thou  the  too  presumptuous  flight : 
Gently  along  the  vale  of  tears 

Lead  me  from  Tabor's  sunbright  steep, 
Let  me  not  grudge  a  few  short  years 

With  Thee  tow'rd  Heaven  to  walk  and  weep. 

Too  happy,  on  my  silent  path, 

If  now  and  then  allow' d  with  Thee 

Watching  some  placid  holy  death, 
Thy  secret  work  of  love  to  see  ; 


CHRIST     TEACHES     HUMILITY.  131 

But  oh  most  happy,  should  thy  call, 
Thy  welcome  call,  at  last  be  given — 

"  Come  where  thou  long  hast  stored  thy  all, 
Come  see  thy  place  prepared  in  Heaven." 

John  Keble. 


Entrants  into 


And  Jesus,  when  he  had  found  a  young  ass,  sat  thereon  ;  as  it  is  written,  "  Fear 
not,  daughter  of  Sion,  behold,  thy  lung  cometh,  sitting  on  an  ass's  colt."  —  JOHN 
xii.  14,  15. 

HE  sat  upon  the  "  ass's  foal  "  and  rode 
Toward  Jerusalem.     Beside  him  walked, 
Closely  and  silently,  the  faithful  twelve, 
And  on  before  him  went  a  multitude 
Shouting  hosannas,  and  with  eager  hands 
Strewing  their  garments  thickly  in  his  way. 
Th'  unbroken  foal  beneath  him  gently  stepped, 
Tame  as  its  patient  dam  ;  and  as  the  song 
Of  "  welcome  to  the  Son  of  David  "  burst 
Forth  from  a  thousand  children,  and  the  leaves 
Of  the  waved  branches  touched  its  silken  ears, 
It  turned  its  wild  eye  for  a  moment  back, 
And  then,  subdued  by  an  invisible  hand, 
Meekly  trode  onward  with  its  slender  feet. 
The  dew's  last  sparkle  from  the  grass  had  gone 
As  he  rode  up  Mount  Olivet.     The  woods 
Threw  their  cool  shadows  freshly  to  the  west, 
And  the  light  foal,  with  quick  and  toiling  step, 
And  head  bent  low,  kept  it's  unslackened  way 

Till  its  soft  mane  was  lifted  by  the  wind 

132 


Sent  o'er  the  mount  from  Jordan.     As  he  reached 

The  summit's  breezy  pitch,  the  Saviour  raised 

His  calm  blue  eye — there  stood  Jerusalem ! 

Eagerly  he  bent  forward,  and  beneath 

His  mantle's  passive  folds,  a  bolder  line 

Than  the  wont  slightness  of  his  perfect  limbs 

Betrayed  the  swelling  fulness  of  his  heart. 

There  stood  Jerusalem  !     How  fair  she  looked — 

The  silver  sun  on  all  her  palaces, 

And  her  fair  daughters  'mid  the  golden  spires 

Tending  their  terrace  flowers,  and  Kedron's  stream 

Lacing  the  meadows  with  its  silver  band, 

And  wreathing  its  mist-mantle  on  the  sky 

With  the  morn's  exhalations.     There  she  stood — 

Jerusalem — the  city  of  his  love, 

Chosen  from  all  the  earth  ;  Jerusalem — 

That  knew  him  not — and  had  rejected  him ; 

Jerusalem — for  whom  he  came  to  die  ! 

The  shouts  redoubled  from  a  thousand  lips 

At  the  fair  sight ;  the  children  leaped  and  sang 

Louder  hosannas  :  the  clear  air  was  filled 

With  odor  from  the  trampled  olive  leaves — 

But  "  Jesus  wept."     The  loved  disciple  saw 

His  Master's  tears,  and  closer  to  his  side 

He  came  with  yearning  looks,  and  on  his  neck 

The  Saviour  leant  with  heavenly  tenderness, 

And  mourned, — "How  oft,  Jerusalem  !  woidd  I 

Have  gathered  you,  as  gathereth  a  hen 

Her  brood  beneath  her  wings — but  ye  would  not ! " 

He  thought  not  of  the  death  that  he  should  die — 


134      CHRIST'S    ENTRANCE   INTO   JERUSALEM. 

He  thought  not  of  the  thorns  he  knew  must  pierce 

His  forehead — of  the  buffet  on  the  cheek— 

The  scourge,  the  mocking  homage,  the  foul  scorn  ! — 

Gethsemane  stood  out  beneath  his  eye 

Clear  in  the  morning  sun,  and  there,  he  knew, 

While  they  who  "  could  not  watch  with  him  one  hour  " 

Were  sleeping,  he  should  sweat  great  drops  of  blood, 

Praying  the  "  cup  might  pass."     And  Golgotha 

Stood  bare  and  desert  by  the  city  wall, 

And  in  its  midst,  to  his  prophetic  eye, 

Rose  the  rough  cross,  and  its  keen  agonies 

Were  number'd  all — the  nails  were  in  his  feet — 

Th*  insulting  sponge  was  pressing  on  his  lips- 

The  blood  and  water  gushing  from  his  side— 

The  dizzy  faintness  swimming  in  his  brain — 

And,  while  his  own  disciples  fled  in  fear, 

A  world's  death-agonies  all  mixed  in  his  ! 

Ay  !— he  forgot  all  this.     He  only  saw 

Jerusalem, — the  chosen— the  loved— the  lost ! 

He  only  felt  that  for  her  sake  his  life 

Was  vainly  given,  and  in  his  pitying  love, 

The  sufferings  that  would  clothe  the  heavens  in  black, 

Were  quite  forgotten.     Was  there  ever  love 

In  earth  or  heaven,  equal  unto  this  ? 

N.  P.  Willis. 


®t«*  tiw 


And  when  he  was  come  near,  he  beheld  the  city,  and  wept  over  it.—  LUKB 
xix.  41. 

WHY  doth  my  Saviour  weep 

At  sight  of  Sion's  bowers  ! 
Shows  it  not  fair  from  yonder  steep, 

Her  gorgeous  crown  of  towers  ? 
Mark  well  his  holy  pains  : 

'Tis  not  his  pride  or  scorn, 
That  Israel's  King  with  sorrow  stains 

His  own  triumphal  morn. 


It  is  not  that  his  soul 

Is  wandering  sadly  on, 
In  thought  how  soon  at  death's  dark  goal 

Their  course  will  all  be  run, 
Who  now  are  shouting  round 

Hosanna  to  their  chief ; 
No  thought  like  this  in  him  is  found, 

This  were  a  conqueror's  grief. 

135 


136  WEEPING    OVER    THE    CITY. 

Or  doth  he  feel  the  cross 

Already  in  his  heart, 
The  pain,  the  shame,  the  scorn,  the  loss, 

Feel  even  his  God  depart  ? 
No :  though  he  knew  full  well 

The  grief  that  then  shall  be— 
The  grief  that  angels  can  not  tell — 

Our  God  in  agony. 

It  is  not  thus  he  mourns , 

Such  might  be  martyrs'  tears, 
When  his  last  lingering  look  he  turns 

On  human  hopes  and  fears : 
But  hero  ne'er  or  saint 

The  secret  load  might  know, 
With  which  His  spirit  waxeth  faint ; 

His  is  a  Saviour's  woe. 

"  If  thou  hadst  known,  even  thou, 

At  least  in  this  thy  day, 
The  message  of  thy  peace !  but  now 

'Tis  passed  for  aye  away : 
Now  foes  shall  trench  thee  round, 

And  lay  thee  even  with  the  earth, 
And  dash  thy  children  to  the  ground, 

Thy  glory  and  thy  mirth." 

And  doth  the  Saviour  weep 
Over  his  people's  sin, 


WEEPING    OVER    THE     CITY.  137 

Because  we  will  not  let  Him  keep 

The  souls  He  died  to  win  ? 
Ye  hearts,  that  love  the  Lord, 

If  at  his  sight  ye  burn, 
See  that  in  thought,  in  deed,  in  word, 

Ye  hate  what  made  him  mourn. 

John  Keble. 


The 


And  when  he  was  come  into  Jerusalem,  all  the  city  was  moved,  saying,  "  Who 
is  this  1  "  And  the  multitude  said,  "  This  is  Jesus,  the  prophet  of  Nazareth  of 
Galilee." — ST.  MATTHEW  xxi.  10,  11. 

THE  air  is  fill'd  with  shouts,  and  trumpets'  sounding ; 

A  host  are  at  thy  gates,  Jerusalem. 

Now  is  thy  van  the  Mount  of  Olives  rounding ; 

Above  them  Judah's  lion-banners  gleam, 

Twined  with  the  palm  and  Olive's  peaceful  stem. 

Now  swell  the  nearer  sound  of  voice  and  string, 

As  down  the  hill-side  pours  the  living  stream ; 

And  to  the  cloudless  heaven  Hosannas  ring — 

"  The  Son  of  David  comes  ! — the  Conqueror — the  Kino-  J " 


The  cuirass'd  Roman  heard  ;  and  grasp'd  his  shield, 
And  rushed  in  fiery  haste  to  gate  and  tower ; 
The  Pontiff  from  his  battlement  beheld 
The  host,  and  knew  the  falling  of  his  power : 
He  saw  the  cloud  on  Sion's  glory  lour, 
Still  down  the  marble  road  the  myriads  come, 
Spreading  the  way  with  garment,  branch  and  flower, 
And  deeper  sounds  are  mingling,  "  woe  to  Rome  ! " 
"  The  day  of  freedom  dawns  ;  rise,  Israel,  from  thy  tomb ! " 

138 


THE     TRIUMPH 


139 


Temple  of  beauty— long  that  day  is  done  ; 

Thy  ark  is  dust;  thy  golden  cherubim 

In  the  fierce  triumphs  of  the  foe  are  gone : 

The  shades  of  ages  on  thy  altars  swim. 

Yet  still  a  light  is  there,  though  wavering  dim ; 

And  has  its  holy  lamp  been  watched  in  vain  ? 

Or  lives  it  not  until  the  finish'd  time, 

When  He  who  fix'd,  shall  break  his  people's  chain, 

And  Sion  be  the  loved,  the  crowii'd  of  God  again  ? 

He  comes,  yet  with  the  burning  bolt  unarm' d ; 

Pale,  pure,  prophetic,  God  of  Majesty ! 

Though  thousands,  tens  of  thousands,  round  him  swarm'd, 

None  durst  abide  that  depth  divine  of  eye ; 

None  durst  the  waving  of  his  robe  draw  nigh. 

But  at  his  feet  was  laid  the  Koman's  sword : 

There  Lazarus  knelt  to  see  his  King  pass  by  ; 

There  Jairus,  with  his  age's  child  adored. 

"  He  comes,  the  King  of  kings :  Hosanna  to  the  Lord  !" 

George  Croly. 


tlw 


And  he  taught  daily  in  the  temple.     And  all  the  people  were  astonished  at  his 
doctrine,  and  were  attentive  to  hear  him.— ST.  MARK  xi. ;  ST.  LUKE  xix. 

How  sweetly  flow'd  the  gospel's  sound 

From  lips  of  gentleness  and  grace, 
When  list'ning  thousands  gather' d  round, 

And  joy  and  reverence  fill'd  the  place  ! 

From  heaven  he  came — of  heaven  he  spoke, 

To  heaven  he  led  his  followers'  way ; 
Dark  clouds  of  gloomy  night  he  broke, 

Unveiling  an  immortal  day. 

"Come,  wanderers,  to  my  Father's  home, 

Come,  all  ye  weary  ones,  and  rest !  " 
Yes !  sacred  Teacher,— we  will  come— 

Obey  thee,— love  thee,  and  be  blest ! 

Decay,  then,  tenements  of  dust ! 

Pillars  of  earthly  pride,  decay ! 
A  nobler  mansion  waits  the  just, 

And  Jesus  has  prepared  the  way. 

Dr.  Bowring. 

HO 


The 


And  he  took  bread,  and  gave  thanks,  and  brake  it,  and  gave  unto  them,  saying, 
"  This  is  my  body  which  is  given  for  you :  this  do  in  remembrance  of  me." — ST. 
LUKE  xxii.  19. 

BEHOLD  that  countenance,  where  grief  and  love 
Blend  with  ineffable  benignity, 
And  deep,  unuttered  majesty  divine. 
Whose  is  that  eye  which  seems  to  read  the  heart, 
And  yet  to  have  shed  the  tear  of  mortal  woe  ? 
Redeemer'!  is  it  thine  ?     And  is  this  feast 
Thy  last  on  earth  ?     Why  do  the  chosen  few, 
Admitted  to  thy  parting  banquet,  stand 
As  men  transfixed  with  horror  ? 

Ah !  I  hear 

The  appalling  answer,  from  those  lips  divine, 
"One  of  you  shall  betray  me." 

One  of  these  ? 

Who  by  thy  hand  was  nurtured,  heard  thy  prayers, 
Received  thy  teachings,  as  the  thirsty  plant 
Turns  to  the  rain  of  summer  ?     One  of  these ! 
Therefore,  with  deep  and  deadly  paleness  droops 
The  loved  disciple,  as  if  life's  warm  spring 
Chilled  to  the  ice  of  death,  at  such  strange  shock 
Of  unimagined  guilt.     See,  his  whole  soul 
Concentred  in  his  eye,  the  man  who  walked 


142  THE    LAST    SUPPER. 

The  waves  with  Jesus,  all  impetuous  prompts 

The  horror-struck  inquiry — "  Is  it  I ! 

Lord  !  is  it  I  ?  "  while  earnest  pressing  near, 

His  brother's  lip,  in  ardent  echo,  seem 

Doubling  the  fearful  thought.     With  brow  upraised, 

Andrew  absolves  his  soul  of  charge  so  foul ; 

And  springing  eager  from  the  table's  foot, 

Bartholomew  bends  forward,  full  of  hope, 

That  by  his  ear,  the  Master's  awful  words 

Had  been  misconstrued.     To  the  side  of  Christ, 

James,  in  the  warmth  of  cherished  friendship,  clings, 

Yet  trembles  as  the  traitor's  image  steals 

Into  his  throbbing  heart ;  while  he,  whose  hand 

In  sceptic  doubt  was  soon  to  probe  the  wounds 

Of  him  he  loved,  points  upward  to  invoke 

The  avenging  God.     Philip,  with  startled  gaze, 

Stands  in  his  crystal  singleness  of  soul, 

Attesting  innocence — while  Matthew's  voice, 

Repeating  fervently  the  Master's  words, 

Rouses  to  agony  the  listening  group, 

Who,  half  incredulous,  with  terror,  seem 

To  shudder  at  his  accents. 

All  the  twelve 

With  strong  emotion  strive,  save  one  false  breast 
By  Mammon  seared,  which,  brooding  o'er  its  gain, 
Weighs  thirty  pieces  with  the  Saviour's  blood. 
Son  of  perdition !— dost  thou  freely  breathe 
In  such  pure  atmosphere  ?— And  canst  thou  hide, 
'Neath  the  cold  calmness  of  that  settled  brow, 
The  burden  of  a  deed  whose  very  name 
Thus  strikes  thy  brethren  pale  ? 


THE     LAST     SUPPER.  143 

But  can  it  be 

That  the  strange  power  of  this  soul-harrowing  scene 
Is  the  slight  pencil's  witchery  ?— I  would  speak 
Of  him  who  pour'd  such  bold  conception  forth 
O'er  the  dead  canvas.     But  I  dare  not  muse 
Now  of  a  mortal's  praise.     Subdued  I  stand 
In  thy  sole,  sorrowing  presence,  Son  of  God— 
I  feel  the  breathing  of  those  holy  men, 
From  whom  thy  gospel,  as  on  angel's  wing, 
Went  out  through  all  the  earth.     I  see  how  deep 
Sin  in  the  soul  may  lurk,  and  fain  would  kneel 
Low  at  thy  blessed  feet,  and  trembling  ask — 
"  Lord !  is  it  I  ? " 

For  who  may  tell,  what  dregs 
Do  slumber  in  his  breast  ?     Thou,  who  didst  taste 
Of  man's  infirmities,  yet  bar  his  sins 
From  thine  unspotted  soul,  forsake  us  not 
In  our  temptations  ;  but  so  guide  our  feet, 
That  our  Last  Supper  in  this  world  may  lead 
To  that  immortal  banquet  by  thy  side, 
Where  there  is  no  betrayer. 

H.  Sigourney. 


The  Last  ${ftjm», 


And  when  they  had  sung  a  hymn,  they  went  out  into  the  Mount  of  Olive*.— 
ST.  MATTHEW  xxvi.  30. 


THE  winds  are  hushed ; — the  peaceful  moon 

Looks  down  on  Zion's  hill ; 
The  city  sleeps  ;  'tis  night's  calm  noon ; 

And  all  the  streets  are  still. 

Save  when,  along  the  shaded  walks, 

We  hear  the  watchman's  call, 
Or  the  guard's  footstep  as  he  stalks 

In  moonlight  on  the  wall. 

How  soft,  how  holy,  is  this  light ! 

And  hark  !  a  mournful  song, 
As  gentle  as  these  dews  of  night, 

Floats  on  the  air  along. 


Affection's  wish,  devotion's  prayer 
Arc  in  that  holy  strain ; 

Tis  resignation,— not  despair  ; 
'Tis  triumph, — though  'tis  pain. 


H4 


THE     LAST    HYMN.  145 

'Tis  Jesus  and  his  faithful  few, 

That  pour  that  hymn  of  love ; 
0  God !  may  we  the  song  renew 

Around  thy  board  above. 

John  Pierpent. 


10 


n 


And  they  came  to  a  place  which  was  named  Gethsemane ;  and  he  saith  to  his 
disciples,  "  Sit  ye  here  while  I  shall  pray." — ST.  MARK  xiv.  32. 


THE  moon  was  shining  yet.     The  orient's  brow, 
Set  with  the  morning  star,  was  not  yet  dim ; 
And  the  deep  silence  which  subdues  the  breath 
Like  a  strong  feeling,  hung  upon  the  world 
As  sleep  upon  the  pulses  of  a  child. 
'Twas  the  last  watch  of  night.     Gethsemane, 
With  its  bathed  leaves  of  silver,  seem'd  dissolved 
In  visible  stillness ;  and  as  Jesus'  voice, 
With  its  bewildering  sweetness,  met  the  ear 
Of  his  disciples,  it  vibrated  on 
Like  the  first  whisper  in  a  silent  world. 
They  came  on  slowly.     Heaviness  oppress'd 
The  Saviour's  heart,  and  when  the  kindnesses 
Of  his  deep  love  were  pour'd,  he  felt  the  need 
Of  near  communion,  for  his  gift  of  strength 
Was  wasted  by  the  spirit's  weariness. 
He  left  them  there,  and  went  a  little  on, 
And  in  the  depth  of  that  hush'd  silentness, 
Alone  with  God,  he  fell  upon  his  face, 

And  as  his  heart  was  broken  with  the  rush 

146 


SCENE     IN    GETHSEMANE.  147 

Of  his  surpassing  agony,  and  death, 

Wrung  to  him  from  a  dying  universe, 

Was  mightier  than  the  Son  of  man  could  bear, 

He  gave  his  sorrows  way — and  in  the  deep 

Prostration  of  his  soul,  breathed  out  the  prayer, 

"  Father,  if  it  be  possible  with  thee, 

Let  this  cup  pass  from  me."     Oh,  how  a  word, 

Like  the  forced  drop  before  the  fountain  breaks, 

Stilleth  the  press  of  human  agony  ! 

The  Saviour  felt  its  quiet  in  his  soul ; 

And  though  his  strength  was  weakness,  and  the  light 

Which  led  him  on  till  now  was  sorely  dim, 

He  breathed  a  new  submission — "  Not  my  will, 

But  thine  be  done,  oh,  Father  ! "     As  he  spoke, 

Voices  were  heard  in  heaven,  and  music  stole 

Out  from  the  chambers  of  the  vaulted  sky 

As  if  the  stars  were  swept  like  instruments. 

No  cloud  was  visible,  but  radiant  wings 

Were  coming  with  a  silvery  rush  to  earth, 

And  as  the  Saviour  rose,  a  glorious  one, 

With  an  illumined  forehead,  and  the  light 

Whose  fountain  is  the  mystery  of  God, 

Encalm'd  within  his  eye,  bow'd  down  to  him, 

And  nerved  him  with  a  ministry  of  strength. 

It  was  enough — and  with  his  godlike  brow 

Re-written  of  his  Father's  messenger, 

With  meekness,  whose  divinity  is  more 

Than  power  and  glory,  he  return'd  again 

To  his  disciples,  and  awaked  their  sleep, 

For  "he  that  should  betray  him  was  at  hand." 

N.  P.  Willis. 


WHERE  climbs  thy  steep,  fair  Olivet, 
There  is  a  spot  most  dear  to  me — 

The  spot  with  tears  of  sorrow  wet, 
Where  Jesus  knelt  in  agony. 

I  love  in  thought  to  linger  there, 
To  tread  the  hallowed  ground  alone, 

Where  on  the  silent,  midnight  air, 

Rose  heavenward,  Lord,  thy  plaintive  moan. 

I  fondly  seek  the  olive  shade 

That  vailed  thee  when  thy  soul  was  wrung ; 
When  angels  came  to  bring  thee  aid, 

That  oft  to  thee  their  harps  had  strung ! 

There  on  the  sacred  turf  I  kneel, 

And  breathe  my  heart's  deep  love  to  thee, 

While  tender  memories  o'er  me  steal 
Of  all  thou  didst  endure  for  me. 


148 


GETHSEMANE.  149 


0  mystery  of  anguish,  when 
The  sinless  felt  sin's  heavy  woe ! 

Hell  madly  dreamed  of  triumph  then, 
While  thy  dear  head  was  bending  low. 

Vain  dream !     No  grief  shall  evermore 
Stain,  as  with  bloody  sweat,  thy  brow ; 

Robed  in  all  glory — thine  before — 
The  seraphim  surround  thee  now. 

Yet,  Lord,  from  off  the  burning  throne, 
Above  yon  stars  that  softly  gleam, 

Thou  cam'st  to  meet  me  here  alone, 
By  Kedron's  old  familiar  stream. 


Ray  Palmer. 


He  went  away  again  the  second  time,  and  prayed,  saying,  "  Oh,  my  father,  i 
this  cup  may  not  pass  away  from  rne,  except  I  drink  it,  thy  will  be  done." — ST 
MATTHEW  xxvi.  42. 


A  WREATH  of  glory  circles  still  his  head — 

And  yet  he  kneels — and  yet  he  seems  to  be 

Convulsed  with  more  than  human  agony : 

On  his  pale  brow  the  drops  are  large  and  red 

As  victim's  blood  on  votive  altar  shed — 

His  hands  are  clasped,  his  eyes  are  raised  in  prayer. 

Alas !  and  is  there  strife  HE  can  not  bear 

Who  calmed  the  tempest,  and  who  raised  the  dead  ? 

There  is !  there  is  I  for  now  the  powers  of  hell 

Are  struggling  for  the  mastery — 'tis  the  hour 

When  Death  exerts  his  last  permitted  power — 

When  the  dread  weight  of  sin,  since  Adam  fell, 

Is  visited  on  Him,  who  deigned  to  dwell, 

A  man  with  men—that  he  might  bear  the  stroke 

Of  wrath  Divine,  and  burst  the  captive's  yoke. 

But  oh  !  of  that  dread  strife  what  words  can  tell  ? 

Those — only  those — which  broke  with  many  a  groan 

From  his  full  heart— "0  Father,  take  away 

150 


THE     AGONY.  151 

The  cup  of  vengeance  I  must  drink  today — 
Yet,  Father,  not  my  will,  but  thine  be  done !" 
It  could  not  pass  away— for  He  alone 
Was  mighty  to  endure,  and  strong  to  save  ; 
Nor  would  Jehovah  leave  him  in  the  grave, 
Nor  could  corruption  taint  his  Holy  One. 

Anonymous. 


The  Befectitm  of  the  Bisciples. 


Then  all  the  disciples  forsook  him  and  fled. — ST.  MATTHEW  xxvi.  56. 

FLED  ! — and  from  whom  ?     The  Man  of  woe 

Who  in  Gethsemane  had  felt 
Such  pangs  as  bade  the  blood-drops  flow, 

And  the  crushed  heart  with  anguish  melt  ? 
They  who  were  gathered  round  his  board, 

Partook  his  love,  beheld  his  power, 
Saw  the  sick  healed,  the  dead  restored, 

Failed  they  to  watch  one  fearful  hour  ? 

All  fled?    Yet  one  there  was  who  laid 

His  head  upon  that  sacred  breast, 
By  friendship's  holy  ardor  made 

A  cherished,  an  illustrious  guest ; 
One,  too,  who  walked  with  Christ  the  wave, 

When  the  mad  sea  confessed  his  sway, 
And  strangely  sealed  her  gaping  grave,— 

Fled  these  forgetfully  away  ? 

152 


THE    DEFECTION     OF    THE    DISCIPLES  153 

Yes :  all  forsook  the  Master's  side 

When  foes  and  dangers  clustered  round, 
And  when  in  bitterness  he  cried, 

'Mid  the  dread  garden's  awful  bound. 
Yet  knew  they  not  how  near  him  stood 

The  host  of  heaven,  a  guardian  tram, 
Deploring  man's  ingratitude, 

And  wondering  at  his  Saviour's  pain. 

Oh !  ye,  whose  hearts  in  secret  bleed 

O'er  transient  hope,  like  morning  dew, 
O'er  friendship  faithless  in  your  need, 

Or  love  to  all  its  vows  untrue  ; 
Who  shrink  from  persecution's  rod, 

Or  slander's  fang,  or  treachery's  tone, 
Look  meekly  to  the  Son  of  God, 

And  in  his  griefs  forget  your  own. 

Forsaken  are  ye  ? — so  was  he, — 

Reviled  ? — yet  check  the  vengeful  word, — 
Rejected  ? — should  the  servant  be 

Exalted  o'er  his  suffering  Lord  ? 
Nor  deem  that  Heaven's  omniscient  eye 

Is  e'er  regardless  of  your  lot, — 
Deluded  man  from  God  may  fly, 

But  when  was  man  ly  God  forgot? 

L.  H.  Sigourney- 


txf 


And  he  cast  down  the  pieces  of  silver  in  the  temple,  and  departed,  and 
and  hanged  himself. — ST.  MATTHEW  xxvii.  5. 


THE  thirty  pieces  down  he  flung, 

For  which  his  Lord  he  sold, 
And  turned  away  his  murderer's  face 

From  that  accursed  gold. 
He  can  not  sleep,  he  dares  not  watch  ; 

That  weight  is  on  his  heart, 
For  which,  nor  earth  nor  heaven  have  hope, 

Which  never  can  depart. 


A  curse  is  on  his  memory, 

We  shudder  at  his  name ; 
At  once  we  loathe  and  scorn  his  guilt, 

And  yet  we  do  the  same : 
Alas  !  the  sinfulness  of  man, 

How  oft  in  deed  and  word 
We  act  the  traitor's  part  again, 

And  do  betray  our  Lord ! 

154 


THE    REMORSE     OF     JUDAS. 

We  bend  the  knee,  record  the  vow, 

And  breathe  the  fervent  prayer : 
How  soon  are  prayer  and  vow  forgot, 

Amid  life's  crime  and  care  !" 
The  Saviour's  passion,  cross,  and  blood, 

Of  what  avail  are  they 
If  first  that  Saviour  we  forget, 

And  next  we  disobey  ? 

For  pleasures,  vanities,  and  hates, 

The  compact  we  renew, 
And  Judas  rises  in  our  hearts — 

We  sell  our  Saviour  too. 
How  for  some  moment's  vain  delight 

We  will  embitter  years, 
And  in  our  youth  lay  up  for  age 

Only  remorse  and  tears. 

Ah !  sanctify  and  strengthen,  Lord, 

The  souls  that  turn  to  thee  ; 
And  from  the  devil  and  the  world 

Our  guard  and  solace  be. 
And  as  the  mariners  at  sea 

Still  watch  some  guiding  star, 
So  fix  our  hearts  and  hopes  on  thee 

Until  thine  own  they  are. 

Miss  Landon. 


155 


xxf 


And  when  they  had  platted  a  crown  of  thorns  they  put  it  upon  his  head,  and  a 
reed  in  his  right  hand  ;  and  they  bowed  the  knee  before  him,  and  mocked  him, 
*  "  Hail,  King  of  the  Jews."  —  ST.  MATTHEW  xxvii.  29. 


Too  little   do  we  think  of  thee, 

Our  too  indulgent  Lord  : 
We  ask  not  what  thy  will  may  be, 

We  dwell  not  on  thy  word. 

Thou,  who  in  human  shape  wast  born, 

And  shared  in  human  woe  ; 
Thou,  who  didst  wear  the  crown  of  thorn, 

Which  all  must  wear  below  ; 

Thou,  who  the  sinner's  fate  didst  share, 

Yet  from  the  grave  arise  — 
Alas  !  unworthy  that  we  are 

Of  such  a  sacrifice. 

Thy  love  should  fill  our  hearts,  like  dew 

That  fills  the  flowers  by  night  ; 
Who  in  that  gentle  rain,  renew 

The  waste  of  morning's  light. 

156 


THE     CROWN     OP    THORNS.  157 

Thus  doth  life's  hurry  and  its  glare 

Dry  up  within  our  heart 
The  holier  thoughts  that  are  thy  share, 

The  spirit's  better  part. 

And  yet  we  turn  not  to  thy  love, 

We  seek  not  to  recall 
The  hopes  that  lift  our  souls  above 

Their  low  and  earthly  thrall. 

On  pleasures  or  on  wealth  intent, 

Careless  we  hurry  on, 
And  vainly  precious  hours  are  spent 

Before  we  think  them  gone. 

Their  joy  and  sorrow,  sin  and  strife, 

Close  round  us  like  a  bond, 
Which  so  enslaves  to  present  life, 

We  never  look  beyond. 

0  Lord,  if  every  thought  were  thine, 

How  little  would  they  be 
Acceptable  before  thy  shrine, 

Unworthy  heaven  and  thee. 

Yet  thou  hast  said,  thou  wilt  accept 

Prayers  offer' d  in  thy  name ; 
That  never  tears  in  vain  were  wept, 

If  from  the  heart  they  came. 


158  THE     CROWN     OF    THORNS. 

Then  strike  our  rocky  souls,  0  Lord 

A. mid  life's  desert  place ; 
Yet  may  their  liar  den' d  depths  afford 
The  waters  of  thy  grace. 

Low  in  the  dust  we  kneel  and  pray, 

O !  sanctify  our  tears ; 
Till  they  wash  every  stain  away 

From  past  and  guilty  years. 


Miss  Landon. 


to  Iflfowtrt 


REPAIR  to  Pilat's  hall, 

Which  place,  when  thou  hast  found,, 
Then  shall  thou  see  a  pillar  stand, 

To  which  thy  Lord  was  bound. 

'Tis  easie  to  be  known 

To  anie  Christian  eye  ; 
The  bloudie  whips  doe  point  it  out 

From  all  that  stand  thereby. 

By  it  there  lies  a  robe 

Of  purple,  and  a  reed 
Which  Pilat's  servants  us'd  t'  abuse 

In  sinne's  deriding  deed  ; 

When  they  pronounced  "  All  haile ! 

God  save  thee ! "  with  a  breath, 
And  by  the  same  cride  presently, 

"  Let  Christ  be  done  to  death." 

His  person  had  in  scorne, 

His  doctrine  made  a  iest, 
Their  mockeries  were  a  martirdome ; 

No  wrongs  but  him  opprest. 


159 


160  THE     HIGHWAY    TO     MOUNT    CALUARIE. 

What  courage  less  than  his 

Would  have  endured  like  shame, 

But  would  with  griefs  of  such  contempt 
Have  dide  t'  indure  the  same  ! 

A  little  from  that  place, 

Upon  the  left  hand  side, 
There  is  a  curious  portlie  dore, 

Right  beautifull  and  wide. 

Leave  that  in  anie  wise, 
Forbid  thy  foot  goe  thether ; 

For  out  thereat  did  Judas  goe — 
Despaire  and  he  together. 

But  to  the  right  hand  turn, 

Where  is  a  narrow  gate ; 
Forth  which  St.  Peter  went  to  weepe 

His  poor  distrest  estate. 

Doe  immitate  the  like, 

Goe  out  at  sorrowe's  dore ; 
Weepe  bitterly  as  he  did  weepe, 
That  wept  to  shine  no  more. 

Keep  wide  of  Cayphus'  house, 

Though  courtous  thoughts  infence : 

There  bribery  haunts,  despare  was  hatcht; 
False  Judas  came  from  thence. 


THE     HIGHWAY    TO     MOUNT     CALUARIE.  161 

But  go  on  forward  still, 

Where  Pilat's  pallace  stands ; 
There,  where  he  first  did  false  condemne, 

There  washed  his  guiltie  hands, 

Confessed  he  found  no  cause, 

And  yet  condemned  to  die, 
Fearing  an  earthly  Ceaser  more 

Than  God  that  rules  on  hie. 

By  this  direction  then 

The  way  is  vnderstood ; 
No  porch,  no  dore,  nor  hal  to  passe, 

Vnsprinkled  with  Christ's  blood. 

So  shall  no  errour  put 

Misguiding  steppes  betweene ;' 
For  every  drop  sweet  Jesus  shed 

Is  freshly  to  be  scene. 

A  crowne  of  piercing  thornes 

There  lies  imbru'd  in  gore ; 
The  garland  that  thy  Sauiour's  head 

For  thy  offences  wore. 

Which,  when  thou  shalt  behold, 

Thinke  what  his  lone  hath  binne, 
Whose  head  was  loaden  with  those  briars 

'T  vnlade  thee  of  thy  sinne. 
11 


162  THE     HIGHWAY    TO     MOUNT     CALUARIE 

Whose  sacred  flesh  was  torne, 
Whose  holie  skinne  was  rent ; 

Whose  tortures  and  extreamest  paines 
Thy  pains  in  hell  preuent. 

As  God  from  Babilon 

Did  turne,  when  they,  past  cure, 
Refused  help  whome  he  would  heale, 

Denying  health  t'  indure : 

So  from  Hierusalem 

The  soule's  Phisition  goes, 
When  they  forsook  His  sailing  health 

And  vowed  themselves  his  foes. 


Goe  with  Him,  happy  sonic, 
From  that  forsaken  towne, 

Vpon  whose  wals  lies  not  a  stone 
But  ruin  must  throw  downe. 

Follow  his  feet  that  goes 

For  to  redeeme  thy  losse, 
And  carries  alle  our  shines  with  him 

To  cansel  on  His  Crosse. 

Behold  what  multitudes 
Doe  guard  thy  God  about, 

Who,  bleeding,  beares  his  dying  treo 
Amidst  the  Jewish  rout ! 


THE     HIGHWAY    TO     MOUNT     CALUARIE.  163 

Look  on  with  liquid  eies, 

And  sigh  from  sorrowing  mind, 
To  see  the  death's-man  goe  before, 

The  murdering  troopes  behind. 

Centurion  hard  at  hand, 

The  thieues  upon  the  side, 
The  exclamations,  shouts  and  cries, 

The  shame  he  doth  abide. 

Then  presse  amongst  the  throng, 

Thyselfe  with  sorrowes  weed ; 
Get  very  neare  to  Christ,  and  see 

What  teares  the  women  she 

Teares  that  did  turne  him  bacKe 

They  were  of  such  a  force — 
Teares  that  did  purchase  daughters'  names 

Of  Father's  kind  remorse. 

To  whom  he  said :  "  Weepe  not ; 

"  For  me  drop  not  a  teare  ; 
"  Bewaile  your  offspring  and  yourselues 

Griefe's  cause  vnseen  is  neare." 

Follow  their  steppes  in  teares, 

And  with  these  women  mourn  ; 
But  not  for  Christ ;  weepe  for  thyselfe, 

And  Christ  will  grace  returne. 


164  THE     HIGHWAY     TO     MOUNT     CALUARIE, 

To  Pilat's  bold  demands 

He  yeelded  no  replie  ; 
Although  the  iudge  importuned  much, 

Yet  silence  did  denie. 

Ynto  his  manic  words 
No  answer  Christ  would  make ; 

Yet  to  those  women  did  He  speake 
For  teares'  and  weepings'  sake. 

Thinke  on  their  force  by  teares — 
.  Teares  that  obtained  love ; 
Where  words  too  weak  could  not  persuade, 
How  teares  had  power  to  moue. 

Then  looke  towards  Jesus'  load, 

More  than  he  could  indure, 
And  how  for  helpe  to  beare  the  same, 

A  hireling  they  procure. 

Joine  thou  vnto  the  Crosse  ; 

Beare  it  of  loue's  desire  ; 
Doe  not  as  Cyrenasus  did, 

That  took  it  vp  for  hire. 

It  is  a  gratefull  deede, 

If  willing  vnderta'ne ; 
But  if  compulsion  set  aworke, 

The  labour's  done  in  vaine. 


THE    HIGHWAY    TO   MOUNT    CALUABIE.  165 

The  voluntarie  death 

That  Christ  did  die  for  thee, 
Gives  life  to  none  but  such  as  ioy 

Crosse-bearing  friends  to  be. 


Vp  to  Mount  Caluarie, 

If  thou  desire  to  goe, 
Then  take  thy  Crosse  and  follow  Christ, 

Thou  canst  not  miss  it  so. 

When  there  thou  art  arriued, 

His  glorious  wounds  to  see, 
Say  but  as  faithful  as  the  thiefe  :  ^ 

"0  Lord  remember  me !  " 

Assure  thyselfe  to  haue 

A  gift  all  gifts  excelling, 
Once  sold  by  sinne,  once  bought  by  Christ, 

For  saints'  eternall  dwelling. 

By  Adam,  Paradise 

Was  sinne's  polluted  shade ; 
By  Christ,  the  dunghill  Golgotha, 

A  Paradise  was  made. 

Samuel  Rowlands. 


I  SEE  my  Lord — the  poor,  the  weak,  the  lowly, 
Along  the  mournful  way  in  sadness  tread ; 

The  thorns  are  on  His  brow,  and  He, — the  Holy, 
Bearing  his  cross — to  Calvary  is  led. 

Silent  He  moveth  on,  all  uncomplaining, 
Though  wearily  His  grief  and  burden  press  ; 

And  foes — nor  shame  nor  pity  now  restraining — 
With  scoff  and  jeering  mock  his  deep  distress. 

'Tis  hell's  dark  hour ;  yet  calm  himself  resigning, 

Even  as  a  lamb  that  goeth  to  be  slain  ; 
The  wine-press  lone  he  treadeth  unrepining, 

And  falling  blood-drops  all  his  raiment  stain. 

In  mortal  weakness  'neath  his  burden  sinking, 

The  Son  of  God  accepts  a  mortal's  aid ! 
Then  passes  on  to  Golgotha  unshrinking, 

Where  love's  divinest  sacrifice  is  made. 

Dear  Lord  !  what  though  my  path  be  set  with  sorrow, 
And  oft  beneath  some  heavy  cross  I  groan  ? 

My  soul,  weighed  down,  shall  strength  and  courage  borrow 
At  thoughts  of  sharper  griefs  which  thou  hast  known. 

166 


VIA     DOLOROSA.  167 

And  I,  in  tears,  will  yet  look  up  with  gladness ; 

And  hope  when  troubles  most  my  hope  would  drown ; 
The  mournful  way  which  thou  didst  tread  with  sadness, 

Was  but  thy  way  to  glory  and  Thy  Crown. 

Ray  Palmer. 


" 


W66p  nut  to 


And  there  followed  him  a  great  company  of  people,  and  of  women,  who  also 
bewailed  and  lamented  him.  But  Jesus,  turning  unto  them,  said,  "  Daughters  of 
Jerusalem,  weep  not  for  me,  but  weep  for  yourselves,  and  your  children." — ST. 
LUKE  xxiii.  27,  28. 

JERUSALEM'S  daughters  !  for  me  do  not  weep  ! 
Your  eyes'  bitter  waters  for  other  days  keep, 
For  days  of  sad  sighing,  deep  wailing,  and  moan  ; 
For  the  dead  and  the  dying  ;  for  cities  o'erthrown. 
When  you  pray  that  the  mountains  may  fall  on  your  head 
Then  from  those  misty  fountains  salt  tears  may  be  shed ; 
But,  Jerusalem's  daughters,  for  me  do  not  weep  ; 
Your  eyes'  bitter  waters  for  other  days  keep. 

When   mothers,   soul-mourning,   curse   the   day   when   was 

pressed 

The  child  of  long  yearning  most  close  to  the  breast ; 
When  those  eyes  they  are  blessing  which  ne'er  saw  a  son, 
And  those  arms,  which  caressing  of  daughters  had  none ; 
When  the  maid,  thickly  sobbing,  her  own  love  shall  mourn, 
And  the  father's  heart,  throbbing,  breaks  o'er  his  first-born ; 
Then  Jerusalem's  daughters,  for  me  do  not  weep  ; 

Your  eyes'  bitter  waters  for  other  days  keep. 

168 


"WEEP    NOT     FOR    ME."  169 

When  the  helmeted  foeman  shall  stride  o'er  the  wall, 

And  TITUS,  the  Roman,  "  No  quarter !  "  shall  call ; 

When  his  horse  through  your  city  proud  prancing  shall  steep 

In  blood,  shed  without  pity,  his  hoof  fetlock  deep. 

When  the  temple  is  crashing  in  horror  and  flame, 

And  the  priests  are  down  dashing  in  anguish  and  shams — 

Then,  Jerusalem's  daughters,  for  me  do  not  weep ; 

Your  eyes'  bitter  waters  for  other  days  keep ! 

Weep  for  strongholds  down  batter'd,  for  vineyards  uptorn. 
For  a  nation  all  scattered,  a  byword  and  scorn : 
Weep  for  chieftains  still  meeting,  where'er  be  their  track, 
Vile  words  of  base  greeting,  gyre,  gibbet,  and  rack  ; 
Weep  for  outrage  on  woman,  for  bondage  and  thrall, 
For  compassion  from  no  man,  and  spurning  from  all  :•— 
So,  Jerusalem's  daughters,  for  me  do  not  weep, 
Your  eyes'  bitter  waters  for  other  days  keep ! 

Though,  soft-hearted  maiden  !  you  now  see  that  I, 
Deserted,  cross-laden,  stagger  onward  to  die  ; 
The  cross  I  am  bearing  will  yet  be  the  gem 
For  the  lofty  knight's  wearing,  the  king's  diadem. 
And  the  words  I  have  spoken,  shall,  over  the  earth, 
To  the  sad  and  heart-broken  of  comfort  give  birth : 
Then,  Jesusalem's  daughters,  for  me  do  not  weep ; 
Your  eyes'  bitter  waters  for  other  days  keep ! 

Now  is  ended  my  mission  :  I  answer  the  call, 
I  fulfill  the  condition,  of  one  slain  for  all ! 


170  "WEEP   NOT   FOR   ME." 

Though  dark  seems  the  story,  the  moment  is  near 

When,  throned  in  heaven's  glory,  I  beaming  appear ! 

From  its  light  ne'er  to  sunder,  till  here  am  I  found, 

Amid  lightnings  and  thunder,  when  the  trumpet  shall  sound; 

Then,  Jerusalem's  daughters,  for  me  do  not  weep  ; 

Your  eyes'  bitter  waters  for  other  days  keep  ! 

Dr.  Maginn. 


And  he,  bearing  his  cross,  went  forth  into  a  place  called  the  place  of  a  skull, 
which  is  called  in  the  Hebrew,  Golgotha. — ST.  JOHX  xix.  17. 

BY  tho  dark  stillness  brooding  in  the  sky, 
Holiest  of  sufferers !  round  thy  path  of  woe, 

And  by  the  weight  of  mortal  agony 

Laid  on  thy  drooping  form  and  pale  meek  brow, 

My  heart  was  awed ;  the  burden  of  thy  pain 

Sank  on  me  with  a  mystery  and  a  chain. 

I  look'd  once  more,  and,  as  the  virtue  shed 
Forth  from  thy  robe  of  old,  so  fell  a  ray 

Of  victory  from  thy  mien !  and  round  thy  head, 
The  halo,  melting  spirit-like  away, 

Seem'd  of  the  very  soul's  bright  rising  born, 

To  glorify  all  sorrow,  shame  and  scorn. 

And  upwards,  through  transparent  darkness  gleaming, 
Gazed  in  mute  reverence,  woman's  earnest  eye, 

Lit,  as  a  vase,  whence  inward  light  is  streaming, 
With  quenchless  faith,  and  deep  love's  fervency  ; 

Gathering,  like  incense  round  some  dim-veil'd  shrine, 

About  the  Form,  so  mournfully  divine  ! 

171 


172  BEARING    THE    CROSS. 

Oh  !  let  thine  image,  as  e'en  then  it  rose, 
Live  in  my  soul  forever,  calm  and  clear, 

Making  itself  a  temple  of  repose, 

Beyond  the  breath  of  human  hope  or  fear ! 

A  holy  place,  where  through  all  storms  may  lie 

One  living  beam  of  dayspring  from  on  high. 

Mrs.  Hemans. 


passim*  af 


When  he  had  scourged  him,  and  the  soldiers  led  him  away  into  the  hail  called 
Pretorium,  they  platted  a  crown  of  thorns  and  put  it  about  his  head,  and  they 
clothed  him  with  purple,  and  began  to  salute  him,  and  bowing  their  knees,  wor 
shiped  him,  "  Hail,  King  of  the  Jews  !  "—Si.  MARK  xv.  15-18. 

HATRED  eternal,  furious  revenging, 
Merciless  raging,  bloody  persecuting, 
Scandalous  speeches,  odious  revilings, 
Causeless  abhorring  ; 

Impious  scoffings  by  the  very  abjects, 
Dangerous  threatenings  by  the  priests  anointed, 
Death  full  of  torment  in  a  shameful  order, 
Christ  did  abide  here. 

He,  that  in  glory  was  above  the  angels, 
Changed  his  glory  for  an  earthly  body, 
Yielded  his  glory  to  a  sinful  outcast, 
Glory  refusing. 

Me,  that  in  bondage  many  sins  retained 

He  for  his  goodness  —  for  his  goodness  only  — 

Brought  from  hell's  torments  to  the  joys  of  heaven, 

Not  to  be  numbered  ; 

173 


THE     PASSION     OF     CHRIST. 

Dead  iii  offenses,  by  his  aid  revived, 
Quickened  in  spirit  by  the  grace  he  yieldeth : 
Sound  then  his  praises  to  the  world's  amazement, 
Thankfully  singing. 

Francis  Davidson.' 
*  His  poems  were  first  published  in  1602, 


The 


And  they  bring  him  unto  the  place  Golgotha,  which  is,  being  interpreted,  Tlio 
place  of  a  skull.  And  they  gave  him  to  drink  wine  mingled  with  myrrh  :  but  lie 
received  it  not.  —  ST.  MARK  xv.  22,  23. 

"  FILL  high  tho  bowl,  and  spice  it  well,  and  pour 
The  dews  oblivious  :  for  the  Cross  is  sharp, 

The  Cross  is  sharp,  and  He 

Is  tenderer  than  a  lamb. 

He  wept  by  Lazarus'  grave  —  How  will  He  bear 
This  bed  of  anguish  ?  and  his  pale  weak  form 

Is  worn,  with  many  a  watch 

Of  sorrow  and  unrest. 

His  sweat  last  night  was  as  great  drops  of  blood, 
And  the  sad  burden  press'd  him  so  to  earth, 

The  very  torturers  paused 

To  help  Him  on  His  way. 

Fill  high  the  bowl,  benumb  His  aching  sense 
With  medicin'd  sleep."  —  0  awful  is  thy  woe  ! 
The  parching  thirst  of  death 

In  on  Thee,  and  thou  triest 

175 


176  THE    WINE    AND    MYRRH. 

The  slumberous  potion  bland,  and  will  not  drink : 
Not  sullen,  nor  in  scorn,  like  haughty  man 

With  suicidal  hand 

Putting  his  solace  by  : 

But  as  at  first  thy  all-pervading  look 
Saw  from  thy  Father's  bosom  to  th'  abyss, 

Measuring  in  calm  presage 

The  infinite  descent ; 

So  to  the  end,  though  now  of  mortal  pangs 
Made  heir,  and  emptied  of  thy  glory  awhile, 

With  un averted  eye 

Thou  meetest  all  the  storm. 

Thou  wilt  feel  all,  that  Thou  may'st  pity  all ; 
And  rather  would'st  Thou  wrestle  with  strong  pain, 

Than  overcloud  thy  soul, 

So  clear  in  agony, 

Or  lose  one  glimpse  of  heaven  before  the  time. 
0  most  entire  and  perfect  sacrifice, 

Renewed  in  every  pulse 

That  on  the  tedious  Cross 

Told  the  long  hours  of  death,  as,  one  by  one, 
The  life-strings  of  that  tender  heart  gave  way ; 

Even  sinners,  taught  by  Thee, 

Look  Sorrow  in  the  face, 


THE    WINE    AND    MYRRH.  177 

And  bid  her  freely  welcome,  unbeguiled 
By  false  kind  solaces,  and  spells  of  earth : — 

And  yet  not  all  unsoothed ; 

For  when  was  joy  so  dear, 

As  the  deep  calm  that  breathed,  "  Father,  forgive." 
Or  "Be  with  me  in  Paradise  to-day  ?" 

And,  though  the  strife  be  sore, 

Yet  in  His  parting  breath 

Love  masters  agony ;  the  soul  that  seemed 
Forsaken,  feels  her  present  God  again, 

And  in  her  Father's  arms 

Contented  dies  away. 

John  Eelle. 
12 


O'ER  WHELMED  iii  depths  of  woe, 

Upon  the  tree  of  scorn, 
Hangs  the  Redeemer  of  mankind, 

With  racking  anguish  torn. 

See !     How  the  nails  those  hands 

And  feet  so  tender  rend ; 
See !     Down  his  face,  and  neck,  and  breast, 

His  sacred  blood  descend. 

Hark !     With  what  awful  cry 

His  spirit  takes  its  flight ; 
That  cry,  it  pierced  his  mother's  heart. 

And  whelmed  her  soul  in  night. 

Earth  hears,  and  to  its  base 

Rocks  wildly  to  and  fro ; 
Tombs  burst ;  seas,  rivers,  mountains  quake ; 

The  veil  is  rent  in  two. 

The  sun  withdraws  his  light ; 

The  midday  heavens  grow  pale  ; 
The  moon,  the  stars,  the  universe, 

Their  Maker's  death  bewail. 

178 


THE     CRUCIFIXION.  179 

Shall  man  alone  be  mute*? 

Come  youth  !     Come  hoary  hairs  ! 
Come  rich  and  poor !     Come  all  mankind ! 

And  bathe  those  feet  in  tears. 

Come  !  fall  before  his  cross 

Who  shed  for  us  his  blood  ; 
Who  died  the  victim  of  pure  love, 

To  make  us  sons  of  God. 

Jesus !  all  praise  to  Thee, 

Our  joy  and  endless  rest ! 
Be  thou  our  guide  while  pilgrims  here, 

Our  crown  amid  the  blest. 

Lyra  Catholica. 


It  is 


CHRIST  has  done  the  mighty  work, 

Nothing  left  for  us  to  do 
But  to  enter  on  his  toil, 

Enter  on  his  triumph  too. 

He  has  sowed  the  precious  seed, 

Nothing  left  for  us  unsown  ; 
Ours  it  is  to  reap  the  fields, 

Make  the  harvest  joy  our  own. 

His  the  pardon,  ours  the  sin,  — 

Great  the  sin,  the  pardon  great  ; 
His  the  good  and  ours  the  ill, 

His  the  love  and  ours  the  hate. 

Ours  the  darkness  and  the  gloom, 

His  the  shade-dispelling  light  ; 
Ours  the  cloud  and  his  the  sun, 

His  the  day-spring,  ours  the  night. 

His  the  labor,  ours  the  rest, 

His  the  death  and  ours  the  life, 
Ours  the  fruits  of  victory, 

His  the  agony  and  strife. 

Horatim  Bonar. 

180 


It  is 


When  Jesus  therefore  had  received  the  vinegar,  he  said,  "  It  is  finished  : "  and 
he  bowed  his  head  and  gave  up  the  ghost. — ST.  JOHN  xix.  30. 


"  IT  is  finished ! "     All  is  done 

As  the  Eternal  Father  willed ; 
Now  his  well-beloved  Son 

Hath  his  generous  word  fulfilled ; 
Even  he  who  runs  may  read 

Here  accomplished  what  was  said, 
That  the  woman's  promised  seed 

Yet  should  bruise  the  serpent's  head  '„ 

"It  is  finished ! "     Needs  no  more 

Blood  of  heifer,  goat,  or  ram  ; 
Typical,  in  days  of  yore, 

Of  the  one  incarnate  Lamb ! 
Lamb  of  God !  for  sinners  slain, 

Thou  the  curse  of  sin  hast  braved  ; 
Braved  and  borne  it — not  in  vain  : 

Thou  hast  died — and  man  is  saved. 

181 


IT    IS    FINISHED. 

"  It  is  finished  ! "     Wrath  of  man 

Here  hath  wrought  and  done  its  worst 
Still  subservient  to  His  plan, 

Greatest,  Wisest,  Last,  and  First ! 
God  shall  magnify  His  praise 

By  that  very  act  of  shame  ; 
And  through  hatred's  hellish  ways, 

He  shall  glorify  His  name. 

"  It  is  finished ! "     From  the  tree 

Where  the  Lord  of  Life  hath  died, 
His  attendant  mourners,  see, 

Gently  lower  The  Crucified ! 
With  a  sister's  tender  care, 

With  a  more  than  brother's  love, 
Manhood,  womanhood  are  there, 

Truth's  devotedness  to  prove. 

"  It  is  finished  ! "     By  the  veil 

Of  the  temple,  rent  in  twain ; 
By  the  yet  more  fearful  tale 

Of  the  dead   uprisen  again ; 
By  that  dense  and  darkened  sky, 

By  each  rent  and  rifted  rock, 
By  that  last  expiring  cry, 

Heard  amid  the  earthquake's  shock ! 

"  It  is  finished ! "     Bear  away 
To  the  garden-tomb  its  dead : 


IT    IS    FINISHED. .  188 

Boast  not,  Death  !  thy  transient  prey  ; 

Watchers  !  vain  your  nightly  tread ; 
"Shining  ones'"  are  there  who  wait 

Till  their  Lord  shall  burst  his  prison, 
To  ascend  in  glorious  state  :— 

"  IT  is  FINISHED  ! "    CHRIST  HATH  RISEN. 

Bernard  Barton. 


s 


His  mother  can  not  reach  his  face  ; 

She  stands  in  helplessness  beside, 
Her  heart  is  martyred  with  her  Son's,  _ 

Jesus,  our  love,  is  crucified  ! 

What  was  thy  crime,  my  dearest  Lord? 

By  earth,  by  heaven,  thou  hast  been  tried, 
And  guilty  found  of  too  much  love  ;— 

Jesus,  our  love,  is  crucified  ! 

Found  guilty  of  excess  of  love, 

It  was  thine  own  sweet  will  that  tied 
Thee  tighter  far  than  helpless  nails  ;  _ 

Jesus,  our  love,  is  crucified  ! 

0  come,  and  mourn  with  me  awhile  ; 

See,  Mary  calls  us  to  her  side  ; 
0  come,  and  let  us  mourn  with  her  ;  _ 

Jesus,  our  love,  is  crucified  ! 

Have  we  no  tears  to  shed  for  him, 
"While  soldiers  scoff  and  Jews  deride  ? 

Ah,  look,  how  patiently  he  hangs,  — 
Jesus,  our  love,  is  crucified  ! 

Faber. 

184 


WHEN  scorn  and  hate,  and  bitter,  envious  pride 
Hurled  all  their  darts  against  the  crucified, 
Found  they  no  fault  but  this  in  Him  so  tried  ? 

"He  saved  others !" 

* 

Those  hands,  thousands  their  healing  touches  knew  ; 
On  withered  limbs  they  fell  like  heavenly  dew  ; 
The  dead  have  felt  them,  and  have  lived  anew : 

"He  saved  others!" 

The  blood  is  dropping  slowly  from  them  now ; 
Thou  can'st  not  raise  them  from  thy  thorn-crowned  brow, 
Nor  on  them  thy  parched  lips  and  forehead  bow  : 

"He  saved  others!" 

That  voice  from  out  their  graves  the  dead  had  stirred ; 
Crushed,  outcast  hearts  grew  joyful  as  they  heard  ; 
For  every  woe  it  had  a  healing  word  : 

"  He  saved  others  ! " 

For  all  thou  hadst  deep  tones  of  sympathy : 
Hast  thou  no  word  for  this  thine  agony  ? 
Thou  pitied'st  all ;  doth  no  man  pity  thee  ? 

"  He  saved  others ! " 

185 


186  HE    SAVED    OTHERS. 

So  many  fettered  hearts  thy  touch  hath  freed, 
Physician !  and  thy  wounds  unstaunched  must  bleed  ; 
Hast  thou  no  balm  for  this  thy  sorest  need  ? 

"  He  saved  others  ! " 

Lord !  and  one  sign  from  thee  could  rend  the  sky ; 
One  word  from  thee,  and  low  those  mockers  lie ; 
Thou  mak'st  no  movement,  utterest  no  cry, 

And  savest  us ! 


txx  ®tmst  an  tte  ©rass, 


HAIL  !  thou  head,  so  bruised  and  wounded 
With  the  crown  of  thorns  surrounded, 
Smitten  with  the  mocking  reed, 
Wounds,  which  may  not  cease  to  bleed, 

Trickling  faint  and  slow  ; 
Hail  !  from  whose  most  blessed  brow 
None  can  wipe  the  blood-drops  now  ; 
All  the  flower  of  life  has  fled, 
Mortal  paleness  there  instead  ; 
Thou,  before  whose  presence  dread, 

Angels  trembling  bow. 

All  thy  vigor  and  thy  life 
Fading  in  this  bitter  strife  ; 
Death  his  stamp  on  Thee  has  set, 
Hollow  and  emaciate, 

Faint  and  drooping  there  ; 
Thou  this  agony  and  scorn 
Hast  for  me,  a  sinner,  borne  ; 
Me,  unworthy,  all  for  me  ! 
With  those  signs  of  love  on  thee, 

Glorious  face,  appear  ! 

187 


188  HYMN     TO     CHRIST     ON     THE     CROSS 

Yet  in  this  Thine  agony, 
Faithful  Shepherd  think  of  me ; 
From  whose  lips  of  life  divine 
Sweetest  draughts  of  life  are  mine, 

Purest  honey  flows. 
All  unworthy  of  thy  thought, 
Guilty,  yet  reject  me  not ; 
Unto  me  thy  head  incline, 
Let  that  dying  head  of  Thine, 

In  mine  arms  repose ! 


Let  me  true  communion  know 
With  theo,  in  Thy  sacred  woe ; 
Counting  all  beside  but  dross, 
Dying  with  thce  on  Thy  cross  ; — 

'Neath  it  will  I  die  ! 
Thanks  to  theo  with  every  breath, 
Jesus,  for  thy  bitter  death  ; 
Grant  thy  guilty  one  this  prayer, 
When  my  dying  hour  is  near, 

Gracious  God,  be  nigh ! 

When  my  dying  hour  must  be, 
Be  not  absent  then  from  me  ; 
In  that  dreadful  hour  I  pray, 
Jesu&  come  without  delay, 
See  and  set  me  free  ! 


HYMN     TO     CHRIST     ON     THE     CROSS  189 

When  thou  biddest  me  depart, 
Whom  I  cleave  to  with  my  heart, 
Lover  of  my  soul  be  near, 
With  thy  saving  jOross  appear, 
Shew  Thyself  to  me ! 

sSt.  Beiinard. 


"Wto.  is 


And  when  they  were  come  to  the  place  which  is  called  Calvary,  there  they 
crucified  him  and  the  malefactors,  one  on  the  right  hand,  and  the  other  on  the 
left. — ST.  LUKE  xxiii.  33. 


BOUND  upon  th'  accursed  tree, 
Faint  and  bleeding,  who  is  He  ? — 
By  the  eyes  so  pale  and  dim, 
Streaming  blood  and  writhing  limb, 
By  the  flesh  with  scourges  torn, 
By  the  crown  of  twisted  thorn, 
By  the  side  so  deeply  pierced, 
By  the  baffled  burning  thirst, 
By  the  drooping  death-dew' d  brow, 
Son  of  Man !  'tis  Thou !  'tis  Thou ! 

Bound  upon  th'  accursed  tree, 
Dread  and  awful,  who  is  He  ? — 
By  the  sun  at  noonday  pale, 
Shivering  rocks  and  rending  veil, 
By  earth  that  trembles  at  His  doom, 
By  yonder  saints  who  burst  their  tomb, 
By  Eden,  promised  ere  He  died 
To  the  felon  at  His  side, 
Lord !  our  suppliant  knees  we  bow 
Son  of  God !  'tis  Thou  !  'tis  Thou ! 

190 


"WHO     IS     HE?"  191 

Bound  upon  th'  accursed  tree, 
Sad  and  dying,  who  is  He  ? 
By  the  last  and  bitter  cry  ; 
The  ghost  given  up  in  agony  ; 
By  the  lifeless  body  laid 
In  the  chamber  of  the  dead  ; 
By  the  mourners  come  to  weep 
Where  the  bones  of  Jesus  sleep  ; 
Crucified  !  we  know  Thee  now  ; 
Son  of  Man !  'tis  Thou !  'tis  Thou ! 

Bound  upon  th'  accursed  tree, 

Dread  and  awful,  who  is  He  ? 

By  the  prayer  for  them  that  slew, 

"  Lord  !  they  know  not  what  they  do  !  " 

By  the  spoiled  and  empty  grave, 

By  the  souls  He  died  to  save, 

By  the  conquest  He  hath  won, 

By  the  saints  before  His  throne, 

By  the  rainbow  round  His  brow, 

Son  of  God  !  'tis  Thou  !  'tis  Thou  ! 

H.  H.  Milman. 


SURELY,  if  such  a  thing  could  be, 
The  best  of  sunlight  fell  on  thee  ; 
The  softest  of  the  stars  of  night 
Shed  down  on  thee  its  sweetest  light. 


Surely,  if  such  a  thing  could  be, 
Noon  kept  its  gentlest  rays  for  thee  ; 
The  lightest  of  the  winds  of  morn 
Across  thy  weary  brow  was  borne. 

The  freshest  dew  that  eve  e'er  shed, 
Fell  in  its  coolness  on  thy  head  ; 
The  fairest  of  the  flowers  that  bloom, 
Reserved  for  thee  their  rich  perfume. 

Yet,  though  this  earth  which  thou  has  made, 
Its  best  for  thee  might  hourly  spread, 
And  though,  if  such  a  thing  might  be, 
The  best  of  sunlight  fell  on  thee  ;— 


192 


HIS     OWN     RECEIVED     HIM     NOT.  193 

Man  had  no  love  to  give  thee  here, 
No  words  of  peace,  no  look  of  cheer ; 
No  tenderness  his  heart  could  move  ; 
lie  gave  thee  hatred  for  thy  love. 

Thy  best  of  love  to  him  was  given, 
The  freest,  truest  grace  of  heaven  ; 
His  worst  of  Hatred  fell  on  thee, 
His  -worst  of  scorn  and  enmity. 

Life,  as  its  gift  for  him,  thy  love 
Brought  in  its  fullness  from  above  ; 
Death,  of  all  deaths  the  sharpest,  he, 
In  his  deep  hate,  prepared  for  thee. 

0  love  and  hate  !  thus  face  to  face 
Ye  meet  in  this  strange  meeting-place ! 
0  sin  and  grace,  0  death  and  life, 
Who,  who  shall  conquer  in  this  strife  ? 

"  Father,  forgive,"  is  love's  lone  cry, 
While  hatred's  crowd,  cries  "Crucify,"' 
How  deeply  man  his  God  doth  hate ! 
God's  love  to  man,  how  true  and  great ! 

Love  bows  the  head  in  dying  woe, 
And  hatred  seems  to  triumph  now  ; 
Life  into  death  is  fading  fast, 

And  death  seems  conqueror  at  last. 
13 


104  HIS     OWN    RECEIVED     HIM    NOT. 

But  night  is  herald  of  the  day, 

And  hate's  dark  triumph  but  makes  way 

For  love's  eternal  victory, 

When  life  shall  live,  and  death  shall  die. 


Horatius  Bonar. 


Now  there  stood  by  the  cross  of  Jesus,  his  mother,  aiid  his  mother's  sister,  Mary 
the  wife  of  Cleophas,  and  Mary  Magdalene. — ST.  JOHN  xix.  25. 

BY  his  gibbet,  she  who  bore  him 

Stood  in  tears  ;  while,  trickling  o'er  him, 

Piteously  the  blood-drops  stole. 
Grief  and  woe  her  bosom  harrow ; 
Lo  !  the  seer's  prophetic  arrow 

Now  indeed  "  hath  pierced  her  soul." 

See  how  sorrowful  and  lonely 
Stands  that  mother,  while  her  only 

Blessed  Son  in  torture  hangs  ! 
Man's  redemption  the  achievement, 
But  how  bitter  the  bereavement ; 

How  acute  the  mother's  pangs ! 

Is  there  one,  whose  heart  so  leaden, 
Cold  indifference  could  deaden 

At  that  scene  of  wondrous  woe — 
To  behold  that  sainted  being 
Anguished  beyond  measure,  seeing 

What  our  Lord  must  undergo  ? 

195 


MARY    AT    THE     CROSS. 

Such  the  price  of  man's  transgression, 
Such  the  godlike  intercession 

Of  her  wounded,  dying  Son ! 
Whom  she  watches,  broken-hearted, 
Till  his  spirit  hath  departed — 

Till  the  deed  of  blood  is  done. 

Blessed  Mary !  let  me  share  in 
Thy  affliction ;  let  me  bear  in 

Thy  overpowering  grief  some  part : 
Let  me  in  thy  sorrows  mingle ; 
Let  devotion,  pure  and  single, 

For  thy  Son  possess  my  heart. 

Holy  mother !  grant  this  favor  : 
Let  the  sufferings  of  my  Saviour 

Sink  into  my  bosom's  core  ; 
Let  me  dwell  with  deep  affection, 
Sad  and  frequent  recollection, 

On  the  torments  that  he  bore ; 

Let  me  sorrow  with  thee  truly ; 
Let  me  bear  my  portion  duly 

Of  his  cross,  and  while  I  live, 
Stand  in  spirit  by  his  gibbet, 
Grief  and  love  with  thee  exhibit, 

Sympathy  and  homage  give. 

Virgin  mother !  purest  maiden ! 
While  thy  heart  with  grief  is  laden, 


MARY    AT    THE    CROSS.  197 

Mine  a  true  compunction  needs ; 
Be  the  death  of  Christ  aye  present 
To  my  thoughts,  and  urge  incessant 

On  to  penitential  deeds. 

Let  the  cross  guard  and  protect  me, 
Through  the  paths  of  life  direct  me ; 

Through  the  sufferings  of  Christ 
May  I,  when  this  clay  shall  moulder, 
Of  God's  vision  a  beholder, 

Joy  with  thee  imparadised ! 

"Stabat  Mater." 


Ifasshm* 


And  it  was  about  the  sixth  hour,  and  there  was  a  darkness  over  .all  the  earth 
until  the  ninth  hour. — ST.  LUKE  xxiii.  44. 


CITY  of  God !  Jerusalem, 
Why  rushes  out  thy  living  stream  ? — 
The  turbaned  priest,  the  hoary  seer, 
The  Roman  in  his  pride,  are  here ; 
And  thousands,  tens  of  thousands,  still 
Cluster  round  Calvary's  wild  hill. 

Still  onward  rolls  the  living  tide, 

There  rush  the  bridegroom  and  the  bride ; 

Prince,  beggar,  soldier,  Pharisee, 

The  old,  the  young,  the  bond,  the  free ; 

The  nation's  furious  multitude, 

All  maddening  with  the  cry  of  blood. 

"Pis  glorious  morn  ; — from  height  to  height 
Shoot  the  keen  arrows  of  the  light ; 
And  glorious  in  their  central  shower, 
Palace  of  holiness  and  power, 
The  temple  on  Mori  ah' s  brow 

Looks  a  new  risen  sun  below. 

198 


THE     PASSION. 

But  woe  to  hill,  and  woe  to  vale ! 
Against  them  shall  come  forth  a  wail : 
And  woe  to  bridegroom  and  to  bride  ! 
For  death  shall  on  the  whirlwind  ride ; 
And  woe  to  thee,  resplendent  shrine, 
The  sword  is  out  for  thee  and  thine ! 

Hide,  hide  thee  in  the  heavens,  thou  sun, 
Before  the  deed  of  blood  is  done ! 
Upon  that  temple's  haughty  steep 
Jerusalem's  last  angels  weep ; 
They  see  destruction's  funeral  pall 
Blackening  o'er  Sion's  sacred  wall. 

Like  tempests  gathering  on  the  shore, 
They  hear  the  coming  armies  roar: 
They  see  in  Sion's  hall  of  state 
The  sign  that  inakcth  desolate, 
The  idol  standard,  pagan  spear, 
The  tomb,  the  flame,  the  massacre. 

They  see  the  vengeance  fall:  the  chain, 

The  long,  long  age  of  guilt  and  pain ; 

The  exile's  thousand  desperate  years, 

The  more  than  groans,  the  more  than  tears ; 

Jerusalem  a  vanished  name, 

Its  tribes  earth's  warning,  scoif  and  shame. 

Still  pours  along  the  multitude, 

Still  rends  the  heavens  the  shout  of  blood, 


199 


200  THE     PASSION. 

But  on  the  murderers'  furious  van, 
Who  totters  on  ?     A  weary  man  ; 
A  cross  upon  his  shoulders  bound, 
His  brow,  his  frame,  one  gushing  wound. 

And  now  he  treads  on  Calvary, 
What  slave  upon  that  hill  must  die  ? 
What  hand,  what  heart,  in  guilt  imbrued, 
Must  be  the  mountain  vulture's  food  ? 
There  stand  two  victims  gaunt  and  bare, 
Two  culprit  emblems  of  despair. 

Yet  who  the  third  ?     The  yell  of  shame 

Is  frenzied  at  the  sufferer's  name ; 

Hands  clenched,  teeth  gnashing,  vestures  torn, 

The  curse,  the  taunt,  the  laugh  of  scorn, 

All  that  the  dying  hour  can  sting, 

Are  round  thee  now,  thou  thorn-crowned  King. 

Yet  cursed  and  tortured,  taunted,  spurned, 
No  wrath  is  for  the  wrath  returned, 
No  vengeance  flashes  from  the  eye. 
The  sufferer  calmly  waits  to  die : 
The  sceptre  reed,  the  thorny  crown, 
Wake  on  that  pallid  brow  no  frown. 

At  last  the  word  of  death  is  given, 
The  form  is  bound,  the  nails  are  driven ; 
Now  triumph,  Scribe  and  Pharisee! 
Now,  Roman,  bend  the  mocking  knee ! 


THE     PASSION.  201 

The  cross  is  reared.     The  deed  is  done. 
There  stands  Messiah's  earthly  throne ! 

This  was  the  earth's  consummate  hour ; 
For  this  had  blazed  the  prophet's  power  ; 
For  this  had  swept  the  conqueror's  sword, 
Had  ravaged,  raised,  cast  down,  restored  ; 
Persepolis,  Rome,  Babylon, 
For  this  ye  sank,  for  this  ye  shone. 

Yet  things  to  which  earth's  brightest  beam 
Were  darkness,  earth  itself  a  dream ; 
Foreheads  on  which  shall  crowns  be  laid, 
Sublime,  when  sun  and  star  shall  fade ; 
Worlds  upon  worlds,  eternal  things, 
Hung  on  thy  anguish,  King  of  kings ! 

Still  from  his  lips  no  curse  has  come, 
His  lofty  eye  has  looked  no  doom ; 
No  earthquake  burst,  no  angel  brand 
Crushes  the  black,  blaspheming  band  : 
What  say  those  lips  by  anguish  riven  ? — 
"  God,  be  my  murderers  forgiven !  " 

He  dies,  in  whose  high  victory, 
The  slayer,  Death  himself,  shall  die. 
He  dies,  by  whose  all-conquering  tread 
Shall  yet  be  crushed  the  serpent's  head  ; 
From  his  proud  throne  to  darkness  hurled, 
The  god  and  tempter  of  this  world. 


202  THE     PASSION. 

He  dies,  creation's  awful  Lord, 

Jehovah,  Christ,  Eternal  Word ! 

To  come  in  thunder  from  the  skies ; 

To  bid  the  buried  world  arise ; 

The  earth  his  footstool,  heaven  his  throne ; — 

Redeemer !  may  thy  will  be  done ! 


Star  xxf 


IT  is  the  same  infrequent  star,— 

The  all-mysterious  light, 
That  like  a  watcher,  gazing  on 

The  changes  of  the  night, 
Toward  the  hill  of  Bethlem  took 

Its  solitary  flight. 

It  is  the  same  infrequent  star, 
Its  sameness  startleth  me  : 

Although  the  disc  is  red  as  blood 
And  downward,  silently, 

It  looketh  on  another  hill,  — 
The  hill  of  Calvary  ! 

Nor  noon,  nor  night  ;  for  to  the  west 
The  heavy  sun  doth  glow  ; 

And,  like  a  ship,  the  lazy  mist 
Is  sailing  on  below  ; 

Between  the  broad  sun  and  the  earth 
It  tacketh  to  and  fro. 

There  is  no  living  wind  astir  ; 
The  bat's  unholy  wing 


203 


204  THE    STAR     OF     CALVARY. 

Threads  through  the  noiseless  olive  trees, 

Like  some  unquiet  thing 
Which  playeth  in  the  darkness,  when 

The  leaves  are  whispering. 

Mount  Calvary  !   Mount  Calvary, 

All  sorrowfully  still, 
That  mournful  tread,  it  rends  the  heart 

With  an  unwelcome  thrill ; 
The  mournful  tread  of  them  that  crowd 

Thy  melancholy  hill ! 

There  is  a  cross,  not  one  alone, 

'Tis  even  three  I  count, 
Like  columns  on  the  mossy  marge 

Of  some  old  Grecian  fount ; 
So  pale  they  stand,  so  drearily, 

On  that  mysterious  Mount. 

Behold,  O  Israel !  behold, 

It  is  no  human  One, 
That  ye  have  dared  to  crucify. 

What  evil  hath  he  done? 
It  is  your  King,  O  Israel! 

The  God-begotten  Son! 

A  wreath  of  thorns,  a  wreath  of  thorns ! 

Why  have  ye  crowned  him  so ! 
That  brow  is  bathed  in  agony, 

'Tis  veiled  in  every  woe ; 


THE    STAR     OF     CALVARY.  205 

Ye  saw  not  the  immortal  trace 
Of  Deity  below. 

It  is  the  foremost  of  the  Three  ; 

Resignedly  they  fall, 
Those  death-like,  drooping  features, 

Unbending,  blighted  all : 
The  Man  of  Sorrows,  how  he  bears 

The  agonizing  thrall ! 

Tis  fixed  on  thee,  0  Israel ! 

His  gaze  ! — how  strange  to  brook  ; 
But  that  there's  mercy  blended  deep 

In  each  reproachful  look, 
T would  search  thee,  till  the  very  heart 

Its  withered  home  forsook. 

To  God !  to  God  !  how  eloquent 

The  cry,  as  if  it  grew, 
By  those  cold  lips  unuttered,  yet 

All  heartfelt  rising  through, 
"  Father  in  heaven  !  forgive  them,  for 

They  know  not  what  they  do ! " 

Haivihome. 


The  Itmat 


Joseph  of  Arimathca,  an  honorable  counsellor,  which  also  waited  for  the  king- 
dom  of  God,  came,  and  went  in  boldly  unto  Pilate,  and  craved  the  body  of  Jesus. 
— ST.  MARK  xv.  43. 


AT  length  the  worst  is  o'er,  and  Thou  art  laid 

Deep  in  thy  darksome  bed ; 
All  still  and  cold  beneath  yon  dreary  stone, 

Thy  sacred  form  is  gone  ; 
Around  those  lips  where  power  and  mercy  hung, 

The  dews  of  death  have  clung 
The  dull  earth  o'er  Thee  and  thy  foes  around, 
Thou  sleep'st  a  silent  corse,  in  funeral  fetters  wound. 


Sleep'st  Thou  indeed  ?  or  is  thy  spirit  fled, 

At  large  among  the  dead  ? 
Whether  in  Eden  bowers  thy  welcome  voice 

Wake  Abraham  to  rejoice, 
Or  in  some  drearier  scene  thine  eye  controls 

The  thronging  band  of  souls  ; 
That,  as  thy  blood  won  earth,  thine  agony 
Might  set  the  shadowy  realm  from  sin  and  sorrow  free. 

206 


THE    BURIAL.  207 

Where'er  Thou  roam'st,  one  happy  soul,  we  know, 

Seen  at  thy  side  in  woe, 
Waits  on  thy  triumph — even  as  all  the  blest 

With  him  and  Thee  shall  rest. 
Each  on  his  cross,  by  Thee  we  hang  a  while, 

WTatching  thy  patient  smile, 
Till  we  have  learned  to  say,  "  'Tis  justly  done 
Only  in  glory,  LORD,  thy  sinful  servant  own." 

Soon  wilt  Thou  take  us  to  thy  tranquil  bower 

To  rest  one  little  hour, 
Till  thine  elect  are  number'd,  and  the  grave 

Call  thee  to  come  and  save  ; 
Then  on  thy  bosom  borne  shall  we  descend, 

•  Again  with  earth  to  blend, 
Earth  all  refined  with  bright  supernal  fires, 
Tinctured  with  holy  blood,  and  wing'd  with  pure  desires. 

0  come  that  day,  when  in  this  restless  heart 

Earth  shall  resign  her  part, 
When  in  the  grave  with  Thee  my  limbs  shall  rest, 

My  soul  with  Thee  be  blest ! 
But  stay,  presumptuous — CHRIST  with  thee  abides 

In  the  rock's  dreary  sides  ; 
He  from  the  stone  will  wring  celestial  dew, 
If  but  the  prisoner's  heart  be  faithful  found  and  true. 

John  Keble. 


The 


And  all  the  people  that  came  together  to  that  sight,  beholding  the  things  which 
were  done,  smote  their  breasts  and  returned. — ST.  LUKE  xxiii.  48. 

EBEWHILE  of  music,  and  ethereal  mirth, 
Where  with  the  stage  of  air  and  earth  did  ring, 
And  joyous  news  of  heav'nly  Infant's  birth, 
My  muse  with  angels  did  divide  to  sing ; 
But  headlong  Joy  is  ever  on  the  wing, 

In  wintry  solstice  like  the  shorten' d  light, 
Soon  swallowed  up  in  dark  and  long  outliving  night. 

For  now  to  sorrow  must  I  tune  my  song, 
And  set  my  harp  to  notes  of  saddest  woe, 
Which  on  our  dearest  Lord  did  seize  ere  long, 
Dangers,  and  snares,  and  wrongs,  and  worse  than  so. 
Which  he  for  us  did  freely  undergo  : 

Most  perfect  Hero  tried  in  heaviest  plight, 
Of  labors  huge  and  hard,  too  hard  for  human  wight! 

He  sovran  Priest  stooping  his  regal  head, 

That  dropped  with  odorous  oil  down  his  fair  eyes, 

Poor  fleshy  tabernacle  entered, 

His  starry  front  low-rooft  beneath  the  skies,-— 

208 


THE    DIHGE.  209 

Oh  what  a  mask  was  there,  what  a  disguise ! 

Yet  more ;  the  stroke  of  death  he  must  abide, 
Then  lies  him  meekly  down  fast  by  his  brethren's  side. 

These  latest  scenes  confine  my  roving  verse, 
To  this  horizon  is  my  Phoebus  bound ; 
His  godlike  acts,  and  his  temptations  fierce, 
And  former  sufferings  otherwise  are  found  ; 
Loud  o'er  the  rest  Cremona's  trump  doth  sound : 

Me  softer  airs  befit,  and  softer  strings 
Of  lute,  or  viol  still,  more  apt  for  mournful  things. 

Befriend  me,  Night,  best  patroness  of  Grief, 

Over  the  pole  thy  thickest  mantle  throw, 

And  work  my  flatter' d  fancy  to  belief, 

That  Hcav'n  and  Earth  are  color'd  with  my  woe  : 

My  sorrows  are  too  dark  for  day  to  know  : 

The  leaves  should  all  be  black  whereon  I  write, 
And  letters  where  my  tears  have  washed  a  wannish  white. 

See,  see  the  chariot,  and  those  rushing  wheels, 
That  whiiTd  the  prophet  up  at  Chebar  flood, 
My  spirit  some  transporting  cherub  feels, 
To  bear  me  where  the  tow'rs  of  Salem  stood, 
Once  glorious  tow'rs,  now  sunk  in  guiltless  blood, 

There  doth  my  soul  in  holy  visions  sit 
In  pensive  trance,  and  anguish  and  ecstatic  fit. 

Mine  eye  hath  found  that  sad  sepulchral  rock, 
That  was  the  casket  of  Heaven's  richest  store, 
14 


210  THE     DIRGE. 

And  here  through  grief  my  feeble  hands  up  lock, 
Yet  on  the  soften'd  quarry  would  I  score 
My  plaining  verse  as  lively  as  before ; 

For  sure  so  well  instructed  are  my  tears, 
That  they  would  fitly  fall  in  order' d  characters. 

Or  should  I  thence,  hurried  on  viewless  wing, 
Take  up  a  weeping  on  the  mountains  wild, 
The  gentle  neighborhood  of  grove  and  spring 
Would  soon  unbosom  all  their  echoes  mild, 
And  I  (for  grief  is  easily  beguil'd) 

Might  think  th*  infection  of  my  sorrows  loud 
Had  got  a  race  of  mourners  on  some  pregnant  cloud. 

John  Milton. 


i*  xxf 


Jesus  saith  unto  her,  "  Touch  me  not,  for  I  am  not  yet  ascended  to  my  Father; 
but  go  to  my  brethren,  and  say  unto  them,  I  ascend  unto  my  Father,  and  your 
Father  ;  and  to  my  God,  and  your  God."  —  ST.  JOHN  xx.  17. 

LIKE  those  pale  stars  of  tempest  hours,  whose  gleam 

Waves  calm  and  constant  on  the  rocking  mast, 
Such  by  the  Cross  doth  your  bright  lingering  seem, 

Daughters  of  Zion  !  faithful  to  the  last  ! 

Ye,  through  the  darkness  o'er  the  wide  earth  cast 
By  the  death-cloud  within  the  Saviour's  eye, 

E'en  till  away  the  heavenly  spirit  passed, 
Stood  in  the  shadow  of  his  agony. 
0  blessed  faith  !  a  guiding  lamp,  that  hour, 
Was  lit  for  woman's  heart  ;  to  her,  whose  dower 

Is  all  of  love  and  suffering  from  her  birth  ; 
Still  hath  your  act  a  voice—  through  fear,  through  strife, 

Bidding  her  bind  each  tendril  of  her  life, 
To  that  which  her  deep  soul  hath  proved  of  holiest  worth. 

Weeper  !  to  thee  how  bright  a  morn  was  given 

After  thy  long,  long  vigil  of  despair, 
When  that  high  voice  which  burial  rocks  had  riven, 

Thrilled  with  immortal  tones  the  silent  air  ! 

211 


212  THE    WOMEN     OP     JERUSALEM. 

Never  did  clarion's  royal  blast  declare 
Such  tale  of  victory  to  a  breathless  crowd, 

As  the  deep  sweetness  of  one  word  could  bear, 
Into  thy  heart  of  hearts,  0  woman !  bowed 
By  strong  affection's  anguish  ! — one  low  word — 

"Mary!" — and  all  the  triumph  wrung  from  death 
Was  thus  revealed !  and  thou  that  so  hadst  err'd, 

So  wept  and  been  forgiven,  in  trembling  faith 

Didst  cast  thee  down  before  th'  all-conquering  Son, 
Awed  by  the  mighty  gift  thy  tears  and  love  had  won ! 

Then  was  a  task  of  glory  all  thine  own, 

Nobler  than  e'er  the  still  small  voice  assigned 
To  lips  in  awful  music  making  known 

The  stormy  splendors  of  some  prophet's  mind. 

"Christ  is  arisen !  "  by  thee  to  wake  mankind, 

First  from  the  sepulchre  those  words  were  brought ! 

Thou  wert  to  send  the  mighty  rushing  wind 
First  on  its  way,  with  those  high  tidings  fraught — 
"Christ  has  arisen!" — Thou,  thou,  the  sin-enthralled, 
Earth's  outcast,  Heaven's  own  ransom'd  one,  wert  called 
In  human  hearts  to  give  that  rapture  birth ; 

Oh !  raised  from  shame  to  brightness ! — there  doth  lie 
The  tenderest  meaning  of  His  ministry, 
Whose  undespairing  love  still  own'd  the  spirit's  worth. 

Mrs.  Hemam. 


at  tte 


Jesus  saith  unto  her,    "Mary."     She  turned  herself,  and  saith  unto  him, 
Rabboni,"  which  is  to  say,  Master.  —  ST.  JOHN  xx.  16. 

WHEN  vengeance  on  her  victim's  head 
Her  seven-fold  vials  sternly  shed  ; 
When  foes  the  hand  of  menace  shook, 
And  friends  betrayed,  denied,  forsook; 
Then  woman,  meekly  constant  still, 
Followed  to  Calvary's  fatal  hill  ;  — 
Yes,  followed  where  the  boldest  failed, 

Unmoved  by  threat  or  sneer  ; 
For  faithful  woman's  love  prevailed 

O'er  helpless  woman's  fear. 

In  sorrow  and  in  peril  tried, 
She  was  the  last  to  quit  his  side  ; 
And  when  the  bloody  scene  was  closed, 
And  low  in  dust  her  friend  reposed, 
The  first  was  she  to  seek  his  tomb, 
With  balm  of  Araby's  perfume  : 
She  fondly  thought  that  honored  form 
To  rescue  from  the  loathsome  worm  ; 
And  little  dreamed,  how  death  in  vain 

Had  cast  his  adamantine  chain 

213 


214  MARY     AT     THE     SEPULCHRE. 

O'er  one  who  came  his  might  to  quell, 
Even  in  his  gloomiest  citadel : — 
And  high  reward  her  zeal  hath  won ; — 
"  Woman  !  "  she  started  at  the  tone  ; — 
"  Mary !  "  she  turned — beheld — adored — 
'Twas  He  to  life  and  her  restored. 

Thus  on  the  pure  and  patient  mind, 
Quiet  its  joy,  in  grief  resigned, 
Fraught  with  rich  blessings  from  above, 
Beams  the  benignant  smile  of  love  ; 
E'en  as  the  lake's  unruffled  breast 
Makes  pillow  for  the  sunbeam's  rest, 
While  waves,  in  wild  disorder  driven, 
Roll  dark  beneath  the  clearest  heaven. 
Oh  woman  !  though  thy  fragile  form 
Bows  like  the  willow  to  the  storm, 
111  suited  in  the  unequal  strife, 
To  brave  the  ruder  scenes  of  life  ; 
Yet,  if  the  power  of  grace  divine, 
Find  in  thy  lowly  heart  a  shrine, 
Then,  in  thy  very  weakness,  strong, 
Thou  winn'st  thy  noiseless  course  along; 
Weaving  thy  influence  with  the  ties 
Of  sweet  domestic  charities, 
And  softening  haughtier  spirits  down 
By  happy  contact  with  thine  own. 


I.  Hankimon. 


The  Latre  of 


For  she  loved  much  :  but  to  whom  little  is  forgiven,  the  same  lorcth  little.— 
ST  LUKE  vii.  47. 

LOVE  is  not  of  the  Earth  ! 

A  ray  that  issued  from  the  Throne  of  Heaven 
First  warmed  it  into  birth  ! 

And  then  to  dwellers  of  the  dust  'twas  given  ; 
Their  pearl  of  price,  their  gem  of  peerless  worth, 

Ere  from  blest  Eden's  shade  their  first  frail  Sire  was  driven. 

But  love,  the  pure,  the  bright, 

Hath  lost  on  earth  its  glory,  and  hath  fled 
To  his  own  realms  of  Light  ; 

Scarce  lingering  o'er  the  unforgotten  dead, 
Where  in  the  lonely  place  of  tombs  by  night, 

The  mute,  fond  prayer  is  breathed  —  the  silent  tear  is  shed. 

Love  is  no  more  divine, 

Save  when  it  seeks  the  Source  whence  first  it  came  — 
Forsakes  its  mortal  shrine, 

And,  like  the  prophet,  on  a  car  of  flame 
Mounts  to  the  Holiest  !     Such,  dear  Saint  !  was  thine, 

When  thine  expiring  Lord  endured  the  cross  of  shame  ! 

215 


216  THE     LOVE     OF     MARY. 

Thou  didst  not  heed  the  cry 

Of  Myriad  voices,  clamoring  fierce  for  blood ; 
The  truest  turned  to  fly, — 

The  boldest  quailed, — but  firm  the  weaker  stood  ! 
Thy  heart  endured  to  watch  his  agony,' 

Unawed  by  scoffing  priests  and  warriors  fierce  of  mood. 

Yea,  when  his  parting  groan 

Smote,  like  Death's  fearful  summons,  on  thine  ear, 
Thou  didst  not  seek  alone 

Idly  to  shed  the  fond  yet  fruitless  tear  ;— 
By  thee  the  last  sad  cares  of  love  were  shown — 

Composed  the  stiffening  limbs,  and  spread  the  decent  bier. 

They  laid  him  in  the  tomb — 

Thou  followedst  still — arid  morning's  earliest  ray 
And  midnight's  latest  gloom 

Still  found  tlieo  watching  where  the  Saviour  lay ; 
The  earth  was  there  thy  bed,  the  cave  thy  home, 

Till  the  sealed  grave  was  rent — the  stone  was  rolled  away. 

The  Victor  Victim  rose — 

And  what,  true  Saint,  was  then  thy  meet  reward  ? 
The  eye  that  watched  his  woes 

Was  first  to  hail  the  rising  of  the  Lord ! 
0  when  were  tears  so  pure,  so  blest  as  those 

Which  gushed,  when  at  his  feet  she  knelt— gazed— wept— 
adored ! 

Tlwmas  Dale. 


And  behold  there  was  a  great  earthquake  :  for  the  angel  of  the  Lord  descended 
from  heaven  and  came  and  rolled  away  the  stone  from  the  door  and  sat  upon  it. — 
ST.  MATTHEW  xxviii.  2. 

COLD  is  the  midnight  air, 

Judea's  vine-clad  heights  in  silence  lie, 

And  dark  yon.  rugged  cliffs  their  shadows  fling 

Across  the  olive  glens,  in  softness  veiled, 

Beneath  the  silver  beams  of  the  pale  moon. 

Jerusalem,  too,  in  solemn  silence  lies, 

Though  thronged  throughout  her  halls  with  iium'rous  guests, 

Now  met  as  in  the  holier  days  gone  by 

To  keep  the  Paschal  Festival. 

But  hark  !  there  is  a  sound  !     What  footstep  dares 
Intrude  on  spot  so  sacred  ?     Who  disturbs 
The  quiet  of  the  grave  ?  a  grave  that  could 
Alone  afford  repose  to  Him  whose  life  f 

Had  been  one  lasting  tempest  of  rebuke, 
And  scorn,  and  bitterness,  and  blackest  hate, 
A  mystery  of  abandonment  and  woe  ! 
Who  dares  approach  ?  unless  some  priceless  friend, 

217 


218  THE    RESURRECTION. 

Whose  agony  and  love  scorns  all  restraint, 
And  at  the  noon  of  night  seeks  the  lone  tomb, 
To  raise  the  linen  shroud,  and  gaze,  and  weep 
On  the  pale  mangled  corpse,  now  cold  and  mute 
As  the  cold  rock  on  which  his  head  doth  rest. 
Is  it  the  noiseless  step — the  smothered  sigh 
Of  holy  friendship,  seeking  e'en  in  death 
To  hold  communion  with  the  loved  and  lost ! 
No — 'Tis  the  martial  clank  of  steel-clad  men, 
The  measured  tread  of  Roman  sentinels, 
Who  sullen  pace  the  private  garden-paths, 
And  watch  the  tomb  of  Jesus.    Wherefore  thus 
Do  hoary  warriors  stand  in  consultation  ? 
And  why  are  signs  of  dread  so  visible 
On  those  stern  countenances,  long  inured 
To  buffet  with  life's  storm,  and  smile  in  scorn 
At  what  the  gods  might  doom  in  duty's  path  ? 
Does  death  not  hold  secure  enough  his  prey, 
That  these  become  his  allies  ? — 

Make  all  secure  ! 

Let  rocks  be  sealed,  and  men  of  war  be  placed 
At  every  avenue,  with  lance  and  sword, 
To  guard  the  still  domain.     Let  the  keen  eye 
Of  the  young  soldier  fix  its  fiery  glance 
On  the  ^mysterious  shrine  ;  while  near  him  stands 
The  laureled  veteran,  with  scrutiny 
Intense  as  the  red  lightning.     And  let  Hell 
Spread  her  embattled  hosts — the  viewless  ranks 
Of  principalities,  and  powers,  and  thrones, 


THE    RESURRECTION.  219 

Be  ready  for  the  charge,  and  all  combine 
To  keep  imprisoned  in  that  dark  above, 
The  murdered  corpse  of  the  poor  Nazarene  ! 

Oh,  earth  and  heaven !     What  dread  convulsion  shake? 

The  adamantine  pillars,  that  have  reared 

Their  dark  volcanic  heaps  against  the  sky, 

So  many  ages  !     See,  the  rocks  are  rent, 

And  opening  wide  disclose  their  secret  depths, 

In  all  the  frightful  grandeur  of  their  form  ! 

What  mighty  thunderings  wake  this  peaceful  dawn, 

With  voice  more  dreadful  than  the  deafening  roll 

Of  Caesar's  conquering  chariots  ! — And  ye  men, 

Ye  men  of  blood  and  valor,  who  have  stood 

Unblanchcd  on  battle-fields,  and  heard  unmoved 

The  tumult  of  ten  thousand  dying  groans, 

Why  stand  ye  thus  with  terror-stricken  brow, 

And  rolling  eye,  and  lip  as  ashy  white 

As  that  of  some  weak,  helpless  woman ! 

And  why  beneath  the  corselet  heaves  so  wild 

Stout  hearts  that  never  quaked  for  man  or  fiend  ? 

The  white-robed  messengers  of  Heaven's  high  King 

Are  hovering  o'er  your  heads  ;  while  near  you  now, 

Within  that  Sepulchre,  is  going  on 

A  mystery 

No  human  hand  may  feel  the  first  warm  throb 
That  stirs  beneath  the  shroud.     No  eye  may  view 
The  mantling  bloom  of  reawakened  like 
Spread  o'er  that  pallid  countenance — 
But  now  he  lives. 

Mitchell 


s 


THE  tomb  is  empty  ;  would'st  thou  have  it  full  ? 

Still  sadly  clasping  the  unbreathing  clay  ;— 
0  !  weak  in  faith,  0  !  slow  of  heart  and  dull, 

To  doat  on  darkness  and  shut  out  the  day  ! 

The  tomb  is  empty  ;  he  who  three  short  days, 
After  a  sorrowing  life's  long  weariness, 

Found  refuge  in  this  rocky  resting  place, 
Has  now  ascended  to  the  throne  of  bliss. 

Here  lay  the  Holy  One,  the  Christ  of  God  ; 

He  who  for  death  gave  death,  and  life  for  life  ; 
Our  heavenly  kinsman,  our  true  flesh  and  blood  ; 

Victor  for  us  on  hell's  dark  field  of  strife. 

This  was  the  Bethel  where  on  stony  bed, 
While  angels  went  and  came  from  morn  till  even, 

Our  truer  Jacob  laid  his  weary  head  ; 
This  was  to  him  the  very  gate  of  heaven. 

The  Conqueror,  not  the  conquered,  he  to  whom 
The  keys  of  death  and  of  the  grave  belong, 

Crossed  the  cold  threshold  of  the  stranger's  tomb, 
To  spoil  the  spoiler  and  to  bind  the  strong. 

220 


HE    IS     RISEN. 


221 


Here  death  had  reigned  ;  into  no  tomb  like  this 
Had  man's  fell  foe  aforetime  found  his  way ; 

So  grand  a  trophy  ne'er  before  was  his, 
So  vast  a  treasure,  so  divine  a  prey. 

But  now  his  triumph  ends  ;  the  rock-barred  door 
Is  open  wide,  and  the  Great  Prisoner  gone ; 

Look  round  and  see,  upon  the  vacant  floor 
The  napkin  and  the  grave-clothes  lie  alone. 

Yes,  death's  last  hope,  his  strongest  fort  and  prison 
Is  shattered,  never  to  be  built  again  ; 

And  He,  the  mighty  captive,  He  is  risen, 
Leaving  behind  the  gate,  the  bar,  the  chain. 

Yes,  he  is  risen  who  is  the  first  and  last ; 

Who  was  and  is  ;  who  liveth  and  was  dead  ; 
Beyond  the  reach  of  death  ho  now  is  passed, 

Of  the  one  glorious  church  the  glorious  Head. 

The  tomb  is  empty ;  so,  ere  long,  shall  be 
The  tombs  of  all  who  in  this  Christ  repose ; 

They  died  with  him  who  died  upon  the  tree, 

They  live  and  rise  with  Him  who  lived,  and  rose. 

Death  has  not  slain  them ;  they  are  freed,  not  slain. 

It  is  the  gate  of  life,  and  not  of  death 
That  they  have  entered ;  and  the  grave  in  vain 

Has  tried  to  stifle  the  immortal  breath. 


HE    IS    RISEN. 

All  that  was  death  in  them  is  now  dissolved  ; 

For  death  can  only  what  is  death's  destroy ; 
And  when  this  earth's  short  ages  have  revolved, 

The  disimprisoned  life  comes  forth  with  joy. 

Their  life-long  battle  with  disease  and  pain 

And  mortal  weariness  is  over  now ; 
Youth,  health  and  comeliness  return  again, 

The  tear  has  left  the  cheek,  the  sweat  the  brow. 

They  are  not  tasting  death,  but  taking  rest, 
On  the  same  holy  couch  where  Jesus  lay, 

Soon  to  awake,  all  glorified  and  blest, 
When  day  has  broke  and  shadows  fled  away. 

Horatius  Bonar. 


Walk  ttx  Emmaus* 


And  they  said  one  to  another,  "  Did  not  our  heart  burn  within  us,  while  ho 
talked  with  us  by  the  way,  and  while  he  opened  to  us  the  scriptures  ?  "  —  ST. 
LUKE  xxiv.  32. 

ABIDE  with  us  —  the  evening  shades 

Begin  already  to  prevail  ; 
And  as  the  ling'ring  twilight  fades, 

Dark  clouds  along  th'  horizon  sail. 

*ifr  ' 

«>  * 

Abide  with  us  —  the  night  is  chill  ; 

And  damp  and  cheerless  is  the  air  ; 
Be  our  companion,  Stranger,  still, 

And  thy  repose  shall  be  our  care. 

Abide  with  us  —  thy  converse  sweet 
Has  well  beguiled  the  tedious  way  ; 

With  such  a  friend  we  joy  to  meet, 
We  supplicate  thy  longer  stay. 

Abide  with  us  —  for  well  we  know 

Thy  skill  to  cheer  the  gloomy  hour, 
Like  balm  thy  honied  accents  flow,  — 

Our  wounded  spirits  feel  their  power. 

223 


THE    WALK    TO    EMMAUS. 

Abide  with  us — and  still  unfold 
Thy  sacred,  thy  prophetic  lore  ; 

What  wondrous  things  of  Jesus  told  ! 
Stranger,  we  thirst,  we  pant  for  more. 

Abide  with  us — and  still  converse 
Of  Him  who  late  on  Calv'ry  died; 

Of  Him  the  prophecies  rehearse ; 
He  was  our  friend  they  crucified. 

Abide  with  us — our  hearts  are  cold, 
We  thought  that  Israel  he'd  restore ; 

But  sweet  the  truths  thy  lips  have  told, 
And,  Stranger,  we  complain  no  more. 

Abide  with  us— we  feel  the  charm, 
That  binds  us  to  our  unknown  friend  : 

Here  pass  the  night  secure  from  harm, 
Here,  Stranger,  let  thy  wand'rings  end. 

Abide  with  us : — to  their  request 

The  Stranger  bows,  with  smiles  divine ; 

Then  round  the  board  the  unknown  guest 
And  weary  travelers  recline. 

Abide  with  us — amazed  they  cry, 
As  suddenly,  whilst  breaking  bread, 

Their  own  lost  Jesus  meets  their  eye, 
With  radiant  glory  on  his  head. 


THE     WALK    TO     EMMAUS.  225 

Abide  with  us — thou  heavenly  Friend, 

Leave  not  thy  followers  thus  alone  : 
The  sweet  communion  here  must  end, — 

The  heavenly  visitant  is  gone ! 

Thomas  Raffles. 
15 


xxf  tbs 


<l  ARE  the  gates  sure  ?—  is  every  bolt  made  fast  ?— 

No  dangerous  whisper  wandering  through  ? 
Dare  we  breathe  calm,  and,  unalarmed,  forecast 

Our  calls  to  suffer  or  to  do  ?  " 
O  ye  of  little  faith  !  twelve  hours  ago, 

He  whom  ye  mourn,  by  power  unbound 
The  bonds  ye  fear  ;  nor  sealed  stone  below 

Barred  Him,  nor  mailed  guards  around. 

The  Lord  is  risen  indeed  !     His  own  have  seen, 

They  who  denied,  have  seen  His  face 
Weeping  and  spared.     Shall  loyal  hearts  not  lean 

Upon  his  outstretched  arm  of  grace  ? 
Shine  in  your  orbs,  ye  stars  of  GOD'S  new  Heaven, 

Or  gathered  or  apart,  shine  clear  ! 
Far,  far  beneath  the  opposing  mists  are  driven, 

The  Invisible  is  waiting  near. 

Williams. 


226 


xxf 


But  he  said  unto  them,  "  Except  I  shall  see  in  his  hands  the  prints  of  the  nails, 
and  put  my  finger  into  the  print  of  the  nails,  and  thrust  my  hand  into  his  side,  I 
will  not  believe."  —  ST.  JOHN  xx.  25. 

STILL  doth  that  spirit  linger  upon  earth  ; 
Still  the  vain  doubt  has  in  delusion  birth. 
We  hesitate,  we  cavil,  we  deny, 
And  ask,  though  all  things  answer  in  reply  ; 
All  nature  echoes  with  one  mighty  Yes, 
And  only  man  will  not  his  God  confess. 
Yet  read  him  in  his  works,  yon  radiant  sea, 
Glassing  the  heaven's  blue  tranquillity  ; 
Noon  on  the  waters,  noon  within  the  skies, 
No  cloud  to  shadow,  and  no  wave  to  rise. 
Now  is  thy  triumph,  man,  unroll  the  sail, 
Like  the  white  meteor,  glancing  on  the  gale  ; 
Go  ride  the  billows,  sweep  before  the  wind, 
And  say,  this  is  the  mastery  of  the  mind  : 
I  gave  those  planks  their  shape  to  cut  the  seas, 
I  taught  that  canvass  how  to  catch  the  breeze, 
I  guide  the  helm  which  tracks  the  pathless  brine, 

The  work  of  my  own  hands  the  ship  is  mine. 

227 


228  THE     INCREDULITY     OF     THOMAS. 

Tis  early  evening,  round  the  sinking  sun 
The  shadowy  clouds  have  gathered  one  by  one ; 
The  waves  arc  running  high,  and  o'er  them  sweep 
The  spectral  sea-birds,  phantoms  of  the  deep ; 
Over  their  pale  white  wings  the  surges  break, 
And  with  the  wild  wind  blends  their  wilder  shriek. 
The  mighty  tempest  rushes  o'er   the  main 
With  thunder,  and  with  lightning,  and  with  rain. 
The  strong  ship  trembles ;  to  the  deep  they  throw 
The  thunder  that  was  destined  for  the  foe. 
The  tall  mast  falls,  as  once  before  it  fell, 
When  came  the  woodman  to  the  forest  dell. 
In  vain,  the  billows  whelm  the  sinking  prow ; 
0,  man,  art  thou  the  lord  of  ocean  now  ? 

But  let  us  trace  him  in  some  milder  form 
Than  the  dread  lessons  of  the  sea  and  storm ; 
It  is  the  end  of  March,  and,  over  earth, 
Sunshine  is  calling  beauty  into  birth. 
There  is  a  fragrance  on  the  soft  warm  air ; 
For  many  the  sweet  breaths  now  floating  there. 
The  snowdrop  is  departed,  that  pale  child, 
Which  at  the  spring's  bright  corning  seems  exiled, 
Cold,  like  a  flower  carved  on  a  funeral  stone, 
Born  with  the  snows,  and  witli  the  snows  is  gone. 
And,  in  its  place,  daises,  rose-touch'd,  unfold — 
Small  fairies,  bearing  each  a  gift  of  gold ; 
And  violets,  like  a  young  child's  eyes  of  blue 
Ah,  spring  and  childhood  only  know  that  hue ; 
The  violet  wears  a  dimmer  shade  ;  the  eye 
Grows  tear-stained,  as  the  year  and  life  pass  by. 


THE     INCREDULITY     OF     THOMAS.  229 

But  now  the  wheat  and  grass  are  green,  therein 

The  grasshopper  and  lark  their  nests  begin ; 

The  purple  clover  round  them,  like  a  bower. 

Now  doth  the  apple  tree  put  forth  its  flower, 

Lined  with  faint  crimson  ;  the  laburnum  bends 

'Ncath  the  bright  gold  that  from  each  bough  descends  : 

Her  graceful  foliage  forth  the  ash  has  flung ; 

The  aspen  trembles :  are  its  leaves  so  young 

That  the  sweet  wind  doth  scare  them,  though  it  bear 

No  ruder  breath  than  flowers  breathe  through  the  air  ? 

A  lulling  sound  where  thyme  and  wild-heaths  blow, 

Tells  that  the  bee  has  there  its  Mexico. 

One  note  of  natural  music,  that  which  now 

Haunts  the  deep  grass,  the  sky,  the  brook,  the  bough. 

Deep  in  the  woodland  sits  the  thrush  and  sings, 

The  sunshine  dancing  on  its  dusky  wings, 

When  the  wind  stirs  the  branches,  and  a  ray 

Lights  the  dim  glades  scarce  conscious  of  the  day. 

Are  not  these  beautiful,  these  hours  which  bring 

Its  leaves  and  flowers,  its  breath  and  bloom  to  spring  ? 

And  yet,  proud  man,  what  hast  thou  here  to  do  ? 

Owes  it  one  leaf,  one  breath,  one  bloom  to  you  ? 

Almighty  God !  and  if  thou  couldst  depart, 
And  leave  no  image  in  the  darken' d  heart, 
What  hope  would  be  for  earth,  to  soothe  or  save, 
Life,  a  brief  struggle  ending  in  the  grave. 
No,  soul  to  elevate  our  wretched  dust, 
No  faith  to  triumph  in  its  sacred  trust, 
First  fever,  then  oblivion,  and  the  tomb, 
Eternal  and  unconquerable  gloom. 


230  THE     INCREDULITY     OF     THOMAS. 

"Lord,  we  believe,  help  thou  our  unbelief." 
Let  there  be  hope  in  toil,  and  joy  in  grief; 
Teach  us  on  nature's  glorious  face  to  look, 
As  if  it  were  thine  own  immortal  book ; 
Teach  us  to  read  thee  in  thy  works,  and  find 
There  evidence  of  thine  Almighty  mind. 
Keep  us,  till  in  the  grave,  with  hope  divine, 
We  sink,  rejoicing  that  we  now  are  thine. 

Miss  Landon. 


Fislmmstx  xxf  Tiberias, 


And  he  said  unto  them,  "  Cast  the  net  on  the  right  side  of  the  ship,  and  yc 
shall  find."  —  ST.  JOHN  xxi.  6. 

NIGHT,  throned  on  sombroits  clouds,  sat  royally 
Ruling  the  realms  of  air  —  alone  she  sat, 
For,  pallid  with  their  watch,  the  stars  had  sunk 
And  lay  in  slumber,  curtained  by  the  mists,  — 
The  pallid  mists  of  the  awakening  day. 
The  moon  had  waned  :  and  all  was  gathering  gloom 
And  "solemn  silence  —  silence  !  still  as  death, 
Save  when  the  moaning  of  the  sleepless  sea  — 
The  sea  that  groaned  like  one  who  lies  alone 
Sick,  feeble,  helpless,  petulant  with  his  pain  — 
Arose  monotonously  to  her  quiet  ear. 
A  bark  lay  rocking  on  the  waves.     For  hours 
The  sea  had  broken  on  her  bow  ;  and  lulled 
By  the  eternal  sameness  of  the  sound, 
Her  crew  lay  slumbering. 

Slowly  in  the  east 

A  mellow  haze  crept  o'er  the  sleeping  sky, 
Faintly  at  first,  and  gray  ;  but  soon  it  bore 
Another  aspect,  and  a  roseate  blush 
Brightened  the  cheek  of  morn. 

The  crew  arose, 

And  sad  and  wearily  put  forth  their  nets, 

231 


-32  THE   FISHERMEN   OF   TIBERIAS. 

For  they  were  fishers  ;  but  in  vain — in  vain — 
And  they  desponded.     From  the  dusk  of  eve, 
And  through  the  night  had  they  pursued  their  toil 
Alone — alone  upon  that  silent  sea ! 
And  now  day  woke,  and  they  had  not  withal 
To  break  their  fasts. 

"  Come,  brothers,  once  again/' 
Said  Simon  Peter,  once  again  throw  forth, 
For  why  should  we  despond  ?  we  can  but  die; 
And  dying,  we  shall  sooner  claim  the  crown 
For  which  we  strive.     Our  perils  are  but  spurs 
To  urge  us  onward.     What  though  we  are  driven 
Like  beasts  before  the  hunter,  hiding  us 
In  dens  like  them :— they  chasten  us,  these  woes  ! 
And  suffering  them  we  shall  the  worthier  be 
To  suffer  like  our  Master !     Once  again 
Courage  and  throw ! '" 

They  rose  and  threw  the  nets. 
When,  as  before,  they  drew  them  to  the  land 
They  were  again  as  empty  as  before  : 
And  murmuring  sorely  they  sat  down  in  woo. 
Day  now  had  risen,  and,  as  from  the  shore 
The  floating  mists  were  lifted,  wave  o'er  wave, 
To  wane  in  air,  upon  the  sands  there  stood 
A  man  of  stately  presence — one,  whose  brow 
Bore  on  its  breadth  a  more  than  mortal  grace, 
And  more  than  mortal  seemed  he  as  he  stood 
There,  with  the  radiance  of  the  rising  sun 
Trembling  and  fluttering  on  his  golden  hair. 
When  they  beheld  him,  they  in  fear  beheld, 


THE     FISHERMEN     OP     TIBERIAS.  233 

Trembling  and  pale,  for  they  knew  not  but  that 
The  stranger  was  a  spy,  who  sought  to  give 
Their  forms  to  stripes,  to  prison,  and  to  death. 
But  when  his  voice,  loud,  clear  and  clarion-like, 
Fell  on  their  ears,  saying,— "  My  children,  lo  ! 
Have  ye  of  meat  ?  "  their  fear  dropt  from  them,  as 
The  scales  in  old  fell  from  the  leper's  limbs, 
And  in  their  joy  they  spake — -joy  mixed  with  grief: 
"Alas  !    no,  Master,  no  :  meat  we  have  none." 
Once  more  the  stately  stranger  :     "  Cast  again 
Your  nets,  and  on  the  right  side  of  the  ship. 
And  ye  shall  find !  " 

And  lo!  they  cast  again. 

And,  when  they  strove  to  raise  their  nets,  they  saw 
That  they  were  full,  so  full  they  could  not  lift 
The  tin  wonted  weight,  and,  pausing  for  a  breath, 
They  leant  in  silence,  wondering !     Then  said  John, 
He  whom  the  Saviour  when  alive,  most  loved, 
"  IT  is  THE  LORD  !  " \ 

0  !  suffering  souls  that  strive, 
Be  not  borne  down  by  sorrow ;  look  aloft, 
For  morn,  will  come,  and  with  the  morn  comes  joy. 
The  feeble  only  fail,  the  weak  in  heart, 
The  soft  of  soul ;  the  strong  are  ever  strong, 
ilnd.  like  the  eagle,  spread  their  nervous  wings, 
And  through  the  storm,  unheeding  rain  or  snow, 
The  thunder's  crashing  or  the  lightning's  flash. 
Soar  to  the  skies ;  so  shall  it  be  with  ye. 
Look  upward,  striving  ever,  and  your  goal 
Is  glorious  Eden  by  God's  golden  throne. 

Henry  B.  Hirst. 


»t  Thai*  £ 


Jesus  saith  to  Simon  Peter,  "  Simon,  son  of  Jonas,  lowest  thou  me  more  than 
these?"  —  ST.  JOHN  xxi.  15. 

"  LOYEST  thou  me  ?  "  I  hear  my  Saviour  say  : 
Would  that  my  heart  had  power  to  answer  —  "  Yea  ; 
Thou  knowest  all  things,  Lord,  in  heaven  above, 
And  earth  beneath  ;  Thou  knowest  that  I  love." 
But  'tis  not  so  ;  in  word,  in  deed,  in  thought, 
I  do  not,  can  not  love  thee  as  I  ought  ; 
Thy  love  must  give  that  power,  thy  love  alone  ; 
There's  nothing  worthy  of  thce  but  thine  own  ;     - 
Lord,  with  the  love  wherewith  thou  lovedst  me, 
Reflected  on  thyself,  I  would  love  thee. 

James  Montgomery. 


234 


And  it  came  to  pass,  while  he  blessed  them,  he  was  parted  from  them,  and  was 
carried  up  into  heaven. — ST.  LUKE  xxiv.  51. 

SOFT  cloud,  that  while  the  breeze  of  May " 
Chaunts  her  glad  matins  in  the  leafy  arch, 

Draw'st  thy  bright  veil  across  the  heavenly  way, 
Meet  pavement.for  an  angel's  glorious  march : 

'•  A  ' 

?*  •' 
j»   r 

My  soul  is  envious  of  mine  eye, 
That  it  should  soar  and  glide  with  thee  so  fast, 

Tho  while  my  groveling  thoughts  half  buried  lie, 
Or  lawless  roam  around  this  earthly  waste. 

Chains  of  my  heart,  avaunt,  I  say — 
I  will  arise,  and  in  the  strength  of  love 

Pursue  the  bright  track  ere  it  fade  away, 
My  Saviour's  pathway  to  his  home  above. 

Sure,  when  I  reach  the  point  where  earth 
Melts  into  nothing  from  th'  incumbered  sight, 

Heaven  will  o'ercome  th'  attraction  of  my  birth, 
And  1  shall  sink  in  yonder  sea  of  light : 

235 


THE     RESURRECTION. 

Till  resting  by  th'  incarnate  Lord, 
Once  bleeding,  now  triumphant  for  my  sake, 

1  mark  him,  how  by  seraph  hosts  adored 
He  to  earth's  lowest  cares  is  still  awake. 

The  sun. and  every  vassal  star, 
All  space  beyond  the  soar  of  angel  wings, 

Wait  on  his  word :  and  yet  he  stays  his  car 
For  every  sigh  a  contrite  suppliant  brings. 

He  listens  to  the  silent  tear 

For  all  the  anthems  of  the  boundless  sky 

And  shall  our  dreams  of  music  bar  our  ear 
To  his  soul-piercing  voice  for  ever  nigh  ? 

Nay,  gracious  Saviour— but  as  now 
Our  thoughts  have  traced  Thee  to  thy  glory-throne, 

So  help  us  evermore  witli  Thee  to  bow 
Where  human  sorrow  breathes  her  lowly  moan. 

We  must  not  stand  to  gaze  too  long, 
Though  on  unfolding  Heaven  our  gaze  we  bend, 

Where  lost  behind  the  bright  angelic  throng 
We  see  CHRIST'S  entering  triumph  slow  ascend. 

No  fear  but  we  shall  soon  behold, 
Faster  than  now  it  fades,  that  gleam  revive, 
When  issuing  from  his  cloud  of  fiery  gold 
Our  wasted  frames  feel  the  true  sun,  and  live. 


THE    RESURRECTION.  237 

Then  shall  we  see  Thee  as  Thou  art, 
For  ever  fix'd  in  no  unfruitful  gaze, 

But  such  as  lifts  the  new  created  heart, 
Age  after  age,  in  worthier  love  and  praise. 

John  Keble. 


And  when  he  had  spoken  these  things,  while  they  beheld,  he  was  taken  up,  and 
a  cloud  received  him  out  of  their  sight. — ACTS  i.  9. 

I  CA*NNOT  look  above  and  sec 

Yon  high-piled  pillowy  mass 
Of  evening  clouds,  so  swimmingly, 

In  gold  and  purple  pass, 
And  think  not,  Lord,  how  Thou  wast  seen 

On  Israel's  desert  way 
Before  them,  in  thy  shadowy  screen. 

Pavilioned  all  the  day ! 

Or,  of  those  robes  of  gorgeous  hue, 

Which  the  Redeemer  wore, 
When,  ravished  from  his  followers'  view, 

Aloft  his  flight  he  bore  ; 
When  lifted,  as  on  mighty  wing, 

He  curtained  his  ascent, 
And  wrapped  in  clouds,  went  triumphing 

Above  the  firmament. 

Is  it  a  trail  of  that  same  pall 

Of  many-colored  dyes, 
That  high  above,  o'er  mantling  all, 

Hangs  midway  down  the  skies — 

238 


THE     CLOUDS.  239 

Or  borders  of  those  sweeping  folds 

Which  shall  be  all  unfurled 
About  the  Saviour,  when  he  holds 

His  judgment  on  the  world  ? 

For  in  like  manner  as  he  went,— 

My  soul,  hast  thou  forgot  ? — 
Shall  be  his  terrible  descent, 

When  man  expecteth  not ! 
Strength,  Son  of  Man,  against  that  hour, 

Be  to  our  spirits  given, 
When  thou  shalt  come  again  with  power, 

Upon  the  clouds  of  heaven ! 

William  Croswell. 


While  they  bclicld  he  was  taken  up ;  and  a  cloud  received  him  out  of  their 
sight. — ACTS  1.  9. 


BRIGHT  portals  of  the  sky, 

Embossed  with  sparkling  stars ; 
Doors  of  eternity, 

With  diamantine  bars, 
Your  arras  rich  uphold : 

Loose  all  your  bolts  and  springs, 
Ope  wide  your  leaves  of  gold, 
That  in  your  roofs  may  come  the  King  of  kings. 

Scarfed  in  a  rosy  cloud, 

Ho  doth  ascend  the  air, 
Straight  doth  the  moon  Him  shroud 

With  her  resplendent  hair ; 
The  next  encrystalled  light 

Submits  to  him  its  beams, 
And  He  cloth  trace  the  height 
Of  that  fair  lamp  which  flames  of  beauty  streams. 

He  towers  those  golden  bounds 
He  did  to  sun  bequeath ; 

240 


THE     ASCENSION.  241 

The  higher  wandering  rounds 

Are  found  his  feet  beneath : 
The  Milky  Way  comes  near, 

Heaven's  axle  seems  to  bend 
Above  each  turning  sphere, 
That  robed  in  glory  Heaven's  King  may  ascend. 

Oh  well-spring  of  this  All ! 

Thy  Father's  image  vive, 
Word,  that  from  nought  did  call 

What  is,  doth  reason  live  ! 
The  soul's  eternal  food, 

Earth's  joy,  delight  of  heaven ; 
All  truth,  love,  beauty,  good, — 
To  Thee,  to  Thee,  be  praises  ever  given ! 

What  was  dismarshaled  late 

To  this  thy  noble  frame, 
And  lost  the  prime  estate, 

Hath  re-obtained  the  same, 
Is  now  more  perfect  seen  ; 

Streams  which  diverted  were 
(And  troubled,  stayed  unclean) 
From  their  first  source,  by  Thee  home-turned  are. 

By  Thee  that  blemish  old, 

Of  Eden's  leprous  prince, 
Which  on  his  race  took  hold, 

And  him  exiled  from  thence, 

16 


242  THE    ASCENSION. 

Now  put  away  is  far ; 

With  sword  in  ireful  guise, 
No  cherub  more  shall  bar 
Poor  man  the  entrance  into  Paradise. 


Now  each  ethereal  gate, 

To  Him  hath  opened  been ; 
And  glory's  King  in  state 

His  palace  enters  in ; 
Now  come  is  this  High  Priest 

To  the  Most  Holy  Place, 
Not  without  blood  addressed. 
With  glory  heaven,  the  earth  to  crown  with  grace. 

Stars  which  all  eyes  were,  late, 

And  did  with  wonder  burn, 
His  name  to  celebrate 

In  flaming  tongues,  their  turn. 
Their  orby  crystals  move 

More  active  than  before, 
And,  cntheatc*  from  above, 
Their  sovereign  Prince  laud,  glorify,  adore. 

The  choirs  of  happy  souls, 

Waked  with  that  music  sweet, 
Whose  descant  care  controls, 

Their  Lord  in  triumph  meet 
The  spotless  spirits  of  light, 

His  trophies  do  extol, 

*Divincly  inspired. 


THE     ASCENSION.  243 

And  arched  in  squadrons  bright, 
Greet  their  great  Victor  in  his  capitol. 

Oh,  glory  of  the  heaven! 

Oh,  sole  delight  of  earth ! 
To  thee  all  power  be  given, 

(Jod's  uncreated  birth: 
Of  mankind  lover  true, 

Endurer  of  his  wrong, 
Who  dost  the  world  renew, 
Still  be  thou  our  salvation  and  our  song ! 

From  top  of  Olivet  such  notes  did  rise, 
When  man's  Redeemer  did  ascend  the  skies. 

William  Drummond* 

*Died  1649. 


into 


RISE  glorious,  Conqueror,  rise 
Into  thy  native  skies, — 

Assume  thy  right; 
And  when  in  many  a  fold 
The  clouds  are  backward  rolled- 
Pass  through  the  gates  of  gold, 

And  reign  in  light ! 

Victor  o'er  death  and  hell ! 
Cherubic  legions  swell 

The  radiant  train : 
Praises  all  heaven  inspire ; 
Each  angel  sweeps  his  lyre, 
And  waves  his  wings  of  fire, 

Thou  lamb  once  slain ! 


Enter  incarnate  God  ! — 
No  feet  but  thine  have  trod 

The  serpent  down  : 
Blow  the  full  trumpets,  blow ! 
Wider  your  portals  throw ! 
Saviour — triumphant — go, 

And  take  thy  crown. 

244 


ASCENDED     INTO     HEAVEN.  245 

Yet  who  are  these  behind, 
In  numbers  more  than  mind 

Can  count  or  say — 
Clothed  in  immortal  stoles, 
Illumining  the  poles 
A  galaxy  of  souls, 

In  white  array  ? 

And  then  was  heard  afar — 
Star  answering  to  star — 

Lo !  these  have  come, 
Followers  of  him  who  gave 
His  life  their  lives  to  save  ; 
And  now  their  palms  they  wave, 

Brought  safely  home ! 

0  Lord,  ascend  thy  throne  ! 
For  thou  shalt  rule  alone 

Beside  thy  sire, 
With  the  great  Paraclete 
The  three  in  one  complete — 
Before  whose  awful  feet 

All  foes  expire. 

Egerton  Erydges. 


From  "The  Bead 


GOD'S  bereaved,  God's  belated, — 

With  your  purples  rent  asunder ! 
Gods  discrowned  and  desecrated, 

Disinherited  of  thunder ! 
Now  the  goats  may  climb  and  crop 
The  soft  grass  on  Ida's  top- 
Now  Pan  is  dead. 

Calm  as  eve  the  bark  went  onward, 

When  a  cry  more  loud  than  wind 
liosc  up ;  deepened  and  swept  seaward, 

From  the  piled  dark  behind  : 
And  the  sun  shrank  and  grew  pale, 
Breathed  against  by  the  great  wail — 
Pan,  Pan  is  dead. 

And  the  rowers  from  the  beaches 
Fell, — each  shuddering  on  his  face — 

While  departing  influences 

Struck  a  cold  back  through  the  place : 

And  the  shadow  of  the  ship 

Reclo(,l  along  the  passive  deep — 

Pan,  Pan  is  dead. 

246 


FROM     "THE     DEAD     PAN."  247 

And  that  dismal  cry  rose  slowly, 

And'sank  slow  through  the  air ; 
Full  of  spirit's  melancholy, 

And  eternity's  despair  ! 
And  they  heard  the  words  it  said- 
Pan  is  dead — Great  Pan  is  dead- 
Pan,  Pan  is  dead. 

'Twas  the  hour  when  One  in  Sion 

Hung  for  Love's  sake  on  a  cross- 
When  his  brow  was  chill  with  dying, 

And  his  soul  was  faint  with  loss  ; 
When  his  priestly  blood  dropped  downward ; 
And  his  kingly  eyes  looked  throneward 
Then  Pan  was  dead. 

By  the  love  he  stood  alone  in, 

His  sole  Godhead  stood  complete ; 
And  the  false  gods  fell  down  moaning, 

Each  from  off  his  golden  seat- 
All  the  false  gods  with  a  cry 
Rendered  up  their  deity- 
Pan,  Pan  was  dead. 


Earth  outgrows  the  mystic  fancies 
Sung  beside  her  in  her  youth : 

And  those  debonair  romances 
Sound  but  dull  beside  the  truth. 


FROM   "THE   DEAD   PAN." 

Phoebus'  chariot-course  is  run  ! 
Look  up,  poets,  to  the  sun  ! 

Pan,  Pan  is  dead. 

Christ  hath  sent  us  down  the  angels ; 

And  the  whole  earth  and  the  skies 
Are  illumed  by  altar-candles 

Lit  for  blessed  mysteries  : 
And  a  priest's  hand  through  creation 
Waveth  calm  and  consecration — 

And  Pan  is  dead. 

Truth  is  fair  ;  should  we  forego  it  ? 

Can  we  sigh  right  for  a  wrong  ? 
God  himself  is  the  best  poet, 

And  the  real  is  His  song. 
Sing  his  truth  out  fair  and  full, 
And  secure  his  beautiful. 

Let  Pan  be  dead. 

Truth  is  large.     Our  aspiration 
Scarce  embraces  half  we  be. 

Shame !  to  stand  in  his  creation 
And  doubt  Truth's  sufficiency ! — 

To  think  God's  song  unexcelling 

The  poor  tales  of  our  own  telling — 
When  Pan  is  dead 

What  is  true,  and  just,  and  honest, 
What  is  lovely,  what  is  pure — 


FROM     "THE     D  }AD     PAN."  249 

All  of  praise  that  hath  admonished, — 

All  of  virtue  shall  endure, — 
These  are  themes  for  poets'  uses, 
Stirring  nobler  than  the  muses 

Ere  Pan  was  dead. 

O  brave  poets,  keep  back  nothing  ; 

Nor  mix  falsehood  with  the  whole  ! 
Look  up  Godward !  speak  the  truth/in 

Worthy  song  from  earnest  soul ! 
Hold,  in  high  poetic  duty, 
Truest  truth  and  fairest  beauty. 

Pan,  Pan  is  dead. 

Elizabeth  Barrett  Browning. 


And  suddenly  there  came  a  sound  from  heaven,  as  of  a  rushing  mighty  wind, 
and  it  filled  all  the  house  where  they  were  sitting. — ACTS  ii.  2. 

MY  Saviour  can  it  be 
That  I  should  gain  by  losing  Thee  ? 
The  watchful  mother  tarries  nigh 
Though  sleep  have  closed  her  infant's  eye, 
For  should  he  wake,  and  find  her  gone, 
She  knows  she  could  not  bear  his  moan. 
But  I  am  weaker  than  a  child, 

And  Thou  art  more  than  mother  dear ; 
Without  Thee,  Heaven  were  but  a  wild : 

How  can  I  live  without  Thee  here  ? 

"  'Tis  good  for  you,  that  I  should  go, 
You  lingering  yet  awhile  below ;" — 
'Tis  thine  own  gracious  promise,  Lord ! 
Thy  saints  have  proved  the  faithful  word, 
When  Heaven's  bright  boundless  avenue 
Far  open'd  on  their  eager  view, 
And  homeward  to  thy  Father's  throne, 

Still  lessening,  brightening  on  their  sight, 
Thy  shadowing  car  went  soaring  on  ; 

They  track'd  Thee  up  th*  abyss  of  light. 

250 


THE    PENTECOST.  251 

Thou  bid'st  rejoice  ;  They  dare  not  mourn, 
But  to  their  home  in  gladness  turn, 
Their  home  and  God's,  that  favor'd  place, 
Where  still  he  shines  on  Abraham's  race, 
In  prayers  and  blessings  there  to  wait 
Like  suppliants  at  their  monarch's  gate 
Who  bent  with  bounty  rare  to  aid 

The  splendors  of  his  crowning  day, 
Keeps  back  awhile  his  largess,  made 

More  welcome  for  that  brief  delay 

In  doubt  they  wait,  but  not  unblest ; 
They  doubt  not  of  their  Master's  rest, 
Nor  of  the  gracious  will  of  heaven — 
Who  gave  his  Son,  sure  all  has  gi veil- 
But  in  ecstatic  awe  they  muse 
What  course  the  genial  stream  may  choose, 
And  far  and  wide  their  fancies  rove, 

And  to  their  height  of  wonder  strain, 
What  secret  miracle  of  love 

Should  make  their  Saviour's  going  gain. 

The  days  of  hope  and  prayer  are  past, 
The  day  of  comfort  dawns  at  last, 
The  everlasting  gates  again 
Roll  back,  and  lo  !  a  royal  train— 
From  the  far  depths  of  light  once  more 
The  floods  of  glory  earthward  pour : 
They  part  like  shower-drops  in  mid  air. 
But  ne'er  so  soft  fell  noontide  shower, 


252  THE     PENTECOST. 

Nor  evening  rainbow  gleam'd  so  fair 
To  weary  swains  in  parched  bower. 

Swiftly  and  straight  each  tongue  of  flame 

Through  cloud  and  breeze  unwavering  came 

And  darted  to  its  place  of  rest 

On  some  meek  brow,  of  Jesus  blest. 

Nor  fades  it  yet,  that  living  gleam, 

And  still  those  lambent  lightnings  stream ; 

Where'er  the  Lord  is,  there  are  they  ; 

In  every  heart  that  gives  them  room, 
They  light  His  altar  every  day, 

Zeal  to  inflame  and  vice  consume. 

Soft  as  the  plumes  of  Jesus'  Dove 
They  nurse  the  soul  to  heavenly  love : 
The  struggling  spark  of  g,ood  within 
Just  smother' d  in  the  strife  of  sin, 
They  quicken  to  a  timely  glow, 
The  pure  flame  spreading  high  and  low. 
•    Said  I,  that  prayer  and  hope  were  o'er  ? 

Nay,  blessed  Spirit !  but  by  Thee 
The  Church's  prayer  finds  wings  to  soar, 

The  Church's  hope  finds  eyes  to  see. 

Then,  fainting  soul,  arise  and  sing : 
Mount,  but  be  sober  on  the  wing  ; 
Mount  up,  for  Heaven  is  won  by  prayer  ; 
Be  sober,  for  thou  art  not  there  ; 
Till  Death  the  weary  spirit  free, 
Thy  God  hath  said,  'Tis  good  for  thee 


THE    PENTECOST.  253 

To  walk  by  faith  and  not  by  sight : 

Take  it  on  trust  a  little  while  ; 
Soon  slialt  thou  read  the  mystery  right, 

In  the  full  sunshine  of  his  smile. 

Or  if  thou  still  more  knowledge  crave, 
Ask  thine  own  heart,  that  willing  slave 
To  all  that  works  thee  woe  or  harm  ; 
Should'st  thou  not  need  some  mighty  charm 
To  win  thee  to  thy  Saviour's  side, 
Though  he  had  deign'd  with  thee  to  bide  ? 
The  Spirit  must  stir  the  darkling  deep, 

The  Dove  must  settle  on  the  Cross, 
Else  we  should  all  sin  on  or  sleep 

With  Christ  in  sight,  turning  our  gain  to  loss. 

John  Keble. 


af  ths 


FROM  KLOPSTOCK'S  "MESSIAH. 


Now  the  last  sleep, 

Last  of  his  earthly  slumbers,  gently  sealed 

The  Saviour's  eyes.     In  heavenly  peace  it  came, 

Descending  from  the  sanctuary  of  God 

In  the  still  softness  of  the  evening  air. 

The  Saviour  slept,  and  Selia  meanwhile 

To  the  assembly  with  these  words  approached. 

Say  who  are  they,  whose  eyes,  bedimmed  with  grief, 

Silent  ascend  the  mountain  ?  sorrow's  hand 

Their  face  has  touched,  yet  harmed  not,  —  ever  such 

The  grief  of  nobler  souls  ;  haply  some  friend 

Wrapt  in  the  silent  arms  of  death  they  mourn, 

Their  like  in  virtue.     Then  the  seraph  thus  : 

Those  are  the  holy  twelve,  0  Selia, 

Chosen  by  the  Mediator  !     Happy  we, 

Their  guardians  and  their  friends.     'Tis  ours  to  hear 

Their  mighty  Master,  when  with  sacred  love 

His  heavenly  thoughts  he  speaks  ;  in  eloquence 

Majestic,  opens  heavenly  mysteries, 

Calls  from  the  skies  immortal  virtue  down, 

To  walk  the  earth,  and  to  eternal  life 

254 


CHARACTERS     OF     THE     DISCIPLES.  255 

Moulds  the  responsive  heart.     Deep  knowledge  thence 
We  draw,  while  his  bright  precepts  prompts  our  souls 
To  highest  adoration  !     Selia, 
In  daily  contemplation  shouldst  thou  mark 
His  noble  friendship,  life  illustrious 
In  God's  own  eyes,  thy  soul  would  overflow 
With  joy  !  delighting  even  to  angel  cars 
The  converse  of  his  followers,  when  of  Him 
They  oft  rejoicing  speak  !  as  spirits  in  Heaven 
'Each  other  love,  so  Jesus  they.     I  oft 
Have  'midst  our  bright  beatitudes  declared, 
And  now  proclaim,  I  would  that  I  were  born 
Of  Adam's  race  !  yea,  subject  even  to  death, 
Could  death  be  sinless  !  then  more  worthily 
My  Saviour  should  I  honor,  dearer  love 
My  mortal  brother ;  joyful  then  for  him 
Would  die,  who  died  for  me ;  while  flowed'  in  death 
My  guiltless  blood,  and  sank  my  dying  eyes, 
Him  would  I  praise  ;  my  latest  sobs,  my  last 
Faint  sigh,  harmonious  as  Eloa's  strains, 
Should  reach  the  Almighty's  ear  !     Then,  Selia,  thou 
With  viewless  hands  shouldst  close  my  dying  eyes, 
And  to  God's  throne  my  fleeting  spirit  bear! 

Then  Selia  spake.     My  heart  like  thine  is  moved 
Man's  mortal  form  to  assume  !     Illustrious  band, 
Friends  of  the  Mediator  ;  worthy  life 
Immortal,  whom  as  brethren  Jesus  loves ! 
On  Golden  seats,  fast  by  the  living  throne, 
Hereafter  shall  ye  sit,  and  judge  the  earth, 
With  all  her  kings  !     Their  names,  0  seraph,  speak, 


258  CHARACTERS    OF    THE     DISCIPLES. 

Recorder  in  the  book  of  life.     Him  first 

Tell  who  with  eager  and  inquiring  eye 

Seeks  Jesus  in  the  shadowy  grove  ;  resolve, 

And  in  his  visage  courage  reigns  ;  0  tell 

What  noble  thoughts  inspire  his  ardent  soul  ? 

Him  name  I  Simon  Peter,  answered  then 

Orion,  of  the  mightiest  he  !     To  him 

The  Mediator  me  a  guardian  chose  : 

Well  has  thy  tongue  described  him,  but  shouldst  thou 

Behold  him  listening  to  the  words  of  Christ, 

Or  far  from  him,  under  my  watchful  eye, 

In  slumber  wrapt,  while  visions  bright  from  God 

Pass  o'er  him,  then  diviner  wouldst  thou  name 

His  feeling  heart.     To  his  disciples  once 

Jesus  thus  spoke,  Whom  think  ye  that  I  am  ? 

"Thou  art  the  Christ !"  Peter  in  transport  cried, 

"  Son  of  the  living  God  ! "     Seraph,  we  too 

Shed  at  the  blissful  words  consenting  tears : 

Yet  would  that  from  the  Saviour's  mouth  I  ne'er 

Had  heard  these  words,  "  Thou  shalt  deny  me  thrice  ! " 

0  words  of  woe  !     Peter,  upon  thy  heart 

Prophetic  fell  they  not  ?     Yet  boldly  then 

Thou  criedst,  My  God  and  my  Redeemer  ne'er 

Will  I  abjure !     Yet  Jesus  spake  again, 

Thou  shalt  deny  me  thrice  !     0  didst  thou  know 

How  sinks  my  heart  in  sorrow  at  the  thought, 

Death  wouldst  thou  rather  meet  than  thus  betray 

In  base  dishonor,  thine  immortal  Lord ! 

Even  as  these  fatal  words  he  spoke,  there  shone 

In  Jesus'  eye  the  beam  of  heavenly  grace ; 


CHARACTERS     OF    THE     DISCIPLES.  257 

And  shall  thy  tongue  abjure  him  ?     Selia  heard 
Orion's  words,  and  tender  woe  transpierced 
The  seraph's  heart !     Oh!  ne'er,  Orion,  ne'er 
Will  he  renounce  his  Saviour  and  his  God  ; 
Those  features  speak  a  heart  of  steadfast  truth  ! 

But  who  is  yon,  upon  whose  manly  front 
Virtue  exulting  sits,  with  scornful  hate 
Of  vice,  and  unappeasable  wrath  'gainst  those 
Who  God  blaspheme  ?     Is  he  not  Simon's  friend, 
That  thus  familiar,  with  a  brother's  love, 
He  greets  him  ?     Sefila  then,  his  angel,  spoke. 
Thou  didst  not  err,  0  seraph  ;  Andrew  he, 
And  Simon's  brother  ;  from  their  earliest  youth 
Watch'd  by  Orion's  eye  and  mine,  they  led 
Tl\eir  gentle  lives  together.     In  the  hour 
Of  infancy,  when  in  their  mother's  arms 
They  lay  enclasped,  I  formed  my  favorite's  soul 
For  that  blest  love  which  Christ  shall  sanctify. 
A  follower  of  the  prophet,  Jesus  him 
Found  by  the  Jordan  stream.     Still  in  his  ear 
The  voice  that  told  of  an  approaching  God 
Resounded,  when  with  eyes  angelic  bright 
Jesus  beheld  and  called  him :  his  pure  breast 
With  heavenly  fire  was  filled,  as  forth  he  went 
His  Lord  divine  to  greet ! 

Libaniel  now, 

Guardian  of  Philip,  spoke.     Him  whom  thou  seest 
With  the  two  brothers  in  fond  friendship  joined, 
Is  Philip.     On  his  placid  face  there  dwells 
A  smile  compassionate,  and  his  heart  throbs 
17 


258  CHARACTERS     OF     THE     DISCIPLES. 

With  love  to  all  the  brotherhood  of  man ! 
Upon  his  lips  sweet  eloquence  hath  God 
Bestowed.     As  dews  distil  at  dawn  from  heaven, 
As  odors  from  the  olive  flow,  so  flow 
The  words  from  Philip's  tongue. 

Selia  again : — 

But  who  is  yon,  with  meditative  step, 
That  walks  beneath  the  cedars  ?     In  his  face 
Glows  noblest  thirst  of  fame.     As  one  he  steps 
Of  those  bright  spirits,  who  to  future  times 
Their  labors  consecrate  ;  whose  living  songs 
From  son  to  son,  from  race  to  race,  descend ; 
Whose  fame  o'erleaps  earth's  clime,  from  star  to  star 
Unbounded  soaring  ;  in  the  praise  of  God 
Who  strike  the  lyre,  while  angels  join  the  strain 
Applauding !  Then  Adona,  seraph,  spoke. 
Him  whom  thou  seest  is  James  of  Zebedee  ! 
His  wise  ambition  unto  heaven  aspires, 
And  in  the  congregation  of  all  men 
Before  the  judgment-seat,  in  the  dread  day 
Of  resurrection,  to  be  deemed  of  God 
And  of  his  Christ  worthy  the  seat  of  bliss  ! 
To  this  diviner  spirit  less  renown 
Were  ignominy  !  as  from  far  he  saw 
His  Saviour,  filled  with  rapturous  joy,  he  sped 
To  greet  him,  as  before  the  eternal  throne 
He  would  have  hailed  him.     Erst  on  Tabor's  hill 
I  saw  him,  when  the  messengers  of  God, 
Elias  and  Moses,  to  Messiah  came 
Descending.     Gorgeous  clouds  encompassed  all 


CHARACTERS     OF     THE     DISCIPLES.  259 

The  mount,  and  glorified  the  Saviour  stood, 
Bright  as  the  mid-day  sun  his  countenance  ! 
His  robes  of  silver  light !     Then,  as  of  old, 
Aaron,  the  high-priest,  to  the  sanctuary 
Hastened  to  see  God's  glory,  and  the  seat 
Of  mercy,  and  the  ark ;  so  hastened  James, 
Chosen  for  this  bright  vision,  in  the  call 
Thrice  honored.     Of  the  twelve,  first  martyr  he, 
So  tell  the  prescient  leaves :  soon  shall  he  tread 
A  fairer  clime,  rejoicing,  and  his  soul 
Rest  in  appeased  bliss  ! 

Him  whom  thou  there 
Behold' st,  Megiddon,  his  good  angel,  said, 
Is  Simon  the  Canaanite,  erewhile 
On  Sharon's  plain  a  shepherd.     From  the  fields 
The  Saviour  called  him.     By  the  gentle  course 
Of  his  unspotted  life,  he  won  the  love 
Of  Jesus,  and  with  single  heart  he  serves 
His  Lord  ;  when  wearied  once  the  Saviour  came 
To  his  low  roof,  in  haste  the  fatted  lamb 
He  slew,  and  waited  on  his  Lord  in  joy, 
Blessed  thus  to  see  God's  prophet  at  his  board 
The  Saviour  gladly  ate,  as  once  he  ate 
At  Amri  with  the  angels,  in  the  house 
Of  Abraham.     Come,  shepherd,  follow  me, 
The  Saviour  spoke,  and  to  thy  comrades  leave 
Thy  tender  flocks ;  for  I  am  he  of  whom, 
When  yet  a  boy  by  Bethlehem's  fount,  thou  heard'st 
The  angels  sing  ! 

Yonder  my  chosen  walks, 
Seraph  Adoram  spake  ;  behold  the  son 


260  CHARACTERS     OF     THE     DISCIPLES. 

Of  Alpheus,  James,  in  whoso  still  face  is  seen 
Self-ruling  virtue,  more  by  deeds  than  fame 
Ennobled.     In  the  eyes  of  God  to  stand 
Approved,  his  only  aim  ;  all  otherwise 
Reckless  of  mortal,  or  immortal  praise. 

Umbial  then  spoke.     Yon  Thomas,  solitary, 
Seeks  the  umbrageous  grove  ;  fervent  his  soul, 
While  rapid  in  his  mind  thoughts  rise  on  thoughts, 
Overflowing  as  the  boundless  sea.     Erewhile 
In  the  dark  realm  of  Saddticean  dreams 
He  wandered,  but  the  heavenly  miracles 
Wrought  by  the  hand  of  his  redeeming  Lord 
Reclaimed  his  faith.     The  labyrinth  of  doubt 
Ho  left,  and  came  to  Jesus :  yet  for  him 
His  Lord  were  fearful,  had  not  nature  joined 
To  his  quick  spirit  deepest  truth  of  heart, 
And  virtue  eminent ! 

There  Matthew  walks, 
Said  Bildai ;  upon  the  idle  lap 
Of  luxury  nursed,  devoted  by  his  sire 
To  win  the  world's  wealth,  with  the  groveling  crew 
Who  quench  the  immortal  spirit  in  the  chase 
Of  riches,  bent  the  ever-swelling  hoard 
To  accumulate.     But  when  he  Jesus  saw, 
A  nobler  being  dawned  upon  his  soul ! 
Messiah  called !  he  followed,  and  resigned 
To  earthly  hearts  the  lust  of  gold !     So  called 
To  seal  his  country's  freedom  by  his  death, 
The  hero  his  fair  consort's  arms  forsakes, 
And  hastens  to  the  field,  where  God  stands  armed 


CHARACTERS     OF     THE     DISCIPLES.  261 

In  terror  'gainst  the  unjust !     But  him  not  fame, 

But  the  imploring  voice  of  innocence 

And  suffering  freedom,  call !     The  joyful  tongues 

Of  a  blest  people  hail  him  on  his  way, 

And  pity,  hovering  o'er  the  bloody  war, 

Directs  his  hand,  while  heaven  approving  smiles. 

Seraph  Siona  then.     Yon  pious  Sage, 
With  hoary  head,  is  my  Bartholomew ! 
Friendship  adorns  his  life,  and  in  his  breast 
Virtue  in  native  beauty  reigns,  and  wins, 
From  his  example  fair,  the  hearts  of  men ! 
Many  through  him  shall  to  the  fold  of  Christ 
Be  gathered,  and  with  wonder  shall  behold 
The  martyr,  bleeding  in  the  pangs  of  death, 
Like  a  bright  seraph  on  his  murderers  smile. 

0  heavenly  friends,  wash  from  his  face  the  blood 
In  that  sad  hour,  that  all  his  farewell  look 
May  share,  converted  to  the  Son  of 'God  ! 

That,  youth,  so  mute  and  pale,  then  Elim  said, 
Is  my  Lebbeus.     His  sweet  spirit  breathes 
All  gentleness.     As  in  those  upper  climes, 
The  abode  of  souls,  ere  yet  called  down  to  earth, 

1  sought  his  spirit,  in  a  lonely  vale 

I  found  him,  where  a  stream,  soft  welling,  made 

A  melancholy  music,  like  a  voice 

Of  woe,  if  woe  in  that  delicious  clime 

"Were  ever  known.     'Twas  there,  as  angels  tell, 

The  seraph  Abbadona  wept,  as  once 

He  passed  from  Eden,  and  fair  Eve  beheld, 

Mourning  her  hapless  doom.     There,  too,  as  well 


262  CHARACTERS     OF     THE     DISCIPLES. 

Ye  know,  the  seraphs  oft  lament  o'er  those 

Who  in  their  youthful  morn  bright  promise  macb 

Of  virtue,  but,  by  pleasure's  smile  seduced, 

Shatter  the  buds  of  early  hope,  thence  doomed 

To  ceaseless  woe,  while  angels  mourn  their  fall 

With  tears  unwept  of  mortals.     Here  I  found 

The  soul  of  my  Lebbeus,  in  thin  clouds 

Enveloped,  and  in  deep  sensation  thrilled, 

Listening  the  pensive  murmurs,  murmurs  mute 

To  earthly  beings,  yet  the  mournful  sound 

Impressed  his  mortal  frame,  true  to  the  tone 

Of  its  celestial  essence.     Him  I  bore 

To  earth,  laid  in  the  soft  lap  of  a  cloud 

Of  morning.     There  within  a  grove  of  palms, 

His  mother  bore  him  ;  from  their  waving  tops 

Descending  all  unseen,  the  tender  babe 

I  fanned  with  cooling  gales.     But  even  then 

He  shed,  in  more  than  mortal  bitterness, 

Those  tears  which  earth's  frail  children,  at  their  L'l^ 

Weep,  in  sad  presage  of  their  future  death  ! 

Compassionate  in  his  youth,  to  every  woe 

Of  man,  and  sorrow  of  his  friend.     So  thus 

He  lived  with  Jesus.     O'er  him  shall  I  grieve 

When  his  Redeemer  dies  ;  that  dreadful  hour 

Shall  fill  him  with  dismay.     0  Saviour  then 

Thy  pitying  hand  extend,  and  bid  him  live  ! 

Lo !  where  he  comes,  with  silent  steps  entranced 

In  grief;  here,  seraph,  may'st  thou  him  behold, 

Of  men  the  gentlest  he  ;  and  as  he  spoke, 

Approached  the  mild  Lebbeus.     The  bright  throng 


CHARACTERS     OF    THE     DISCIPLES.  263 

Of  spirits  to  the  mortal's  steps  gave  way, 

Opening  their  ranks,  as  move  the  vernal  winds 

Before  the  sad  voice  of  the  nightingale, 

That  mourns  her  ravished  young ;  then  closed  they  swift, 

Encompassing  him,  like  a  band  of  men 

Touched  at  a  brother's  woe.     But  he  the  while 

Who  deemed  himself  all  solitary,  poured 

His  soul  in  bitter  anguish,  o'er  his  head 

Smiting  his  trembling  hands.     "Ah  me  !  no  more 

I  find  him  ;    one  sad  day,  two  mournful  nights, 

Are  sped,  and  yet  he  comes  not ;  in  their  toils 

Him  have  his  impious  pursuers  bound. 

Wretched  survivor  !     Shall  I  live,  while  death 

O'ertakes  tliee,  Jesus  ?     Sinners,  in  thy  blood, 

0  Son  of  God,  have  their  red  hands  imbrued. 

Thou  diest,  and  I  am  far,  and  may  not  catch 

Thy  parting  breath,  or  press  thy  closing  eyes ! 

Where,  traitors,  have  ye  slain  him  ?  to  what  field, 

To  what  wild  desert  waste,  what  sepulchre, 

'Midst  the  cold  dead,  have  your  hands  borne  him,  then 

Robbed  him  of  life  ?     0  heavenly  friend,  thou  liest 

Pale  and  disfigured,  'midst  the  dreary  graves  ! 

Silent  thine  angel  smile,  and  quenched  the  light 

Of  thine  eyes'  bright  compassion  !  far  away, 

Thy  friends  lament !  would  that  this  bursting  heart 

Might  throb  no  more,  that  my  sad  spirit,  steeped 

In  deepest  woe,  might  sink  like  yonder  cloud 

In  death's  dark  night.     Despair  o'erwhelms  my  soul." 

So  mourned  he,  and  his  gentle  senses  fell 
In  sleep  resolved  ;  while  Elim  o'er  him  waved, 
Soft  shadowing,  the  olive's  tenderest  boughs  ; 


264  CHARACTERS     OP     THE     DISCIPLES. 

Then,  all  unseen,  bade  breathe  delicious  airs 
Of  heaven  upon  his  face,  and  o'er  his  head 
Shed  life  and  balmy  rest.     He  slept  and  saw, 
Such  power  the  seraph  inspired,  in  holy  dream 
The  Mediator,  Godlike,  o'er  him  pass. 

"With  tearful  eyes,  and  looks  compassionate, 
Sclia  hung  o'er  him,  when  one  came  in  sight, 
Ascending,  near  the  graves.     0  name  me  yon, 
The  seraph  said,  who  upon  the  mountain  comes 
Majestic  towards  us  ?     O'er  his  shoulders  broad 
Thick  flow  his  raven  tresses  ;  stern  his  face 
In  manly  beauty ;  in  his  stature  tall, 
His  fellows  all  surpassing,  and  his  steps 
With  dignity  pre-eminent !  yet  friends, 
Within  his  soul  there  dwells,  if  err  I  not, 
Disquietude  ;  not  that  the  abode,  methinks, 
Of  honor,  yet  is  he  chosen,  and  shall  come 
With  Christ  to  judge  the  earth  .  ye  speak  not  yet  \ 
Still  arc  ye  silent,  heavenly  friends  ?  your  souls 
With  sorrow  have  I  filled  at  this  surmise, 
Forgive  me  that  I  erred  !  and  thou  forgive, 
Holy  disciple,  and  repress  thy  wrath  ! 
I  will  atone  for  this,  when  thou  slialt  come, 
A  martyr  in  full  glory  to  the  heavens  ! 
With  tender  friendship  will  I  hail  thee  then, 
Before  these  seraphs,  and  absolve  my  fault. 

Then  to  the  seraph  with  deep  sighs,  and  hands 
He  wrung  for  grief,  Ithuriel  turned  and  spoke  : 
Must  I  then  answer  thee,  my  friend  ?  alas, 
Eternal  silence,  for  my  grief,  thy  peace, 


CHARACTERS     OF    THE     DISCIPLES.  265 

Were  preferable.     Yet  must  I  speak  ? 

Iscariot  is  he  whom  thou  seest :  these  tears 

I  would  not  shed,  and  would  unmoved  behold, 

And  shun  in  holy  scorn  the  reprobate, 

Had  not  Messiah  in  his  early  heart 

Virtue  instilled,  and  he  had  led  his  youth 

In  innocence,  and  him  had  Jesus  deemed 

Worthy  our  guardianship.     But  he,  alas — 

Yet  here  I  pause,  nor  add  fresh  grief  to  grief ! 

Remember' st  thou  when,  near  the  throne  of  God, 

Of  the  disciples'  souls,  and  of  their  birth, 

We  spoke,  Eloa,  as  the  nod  of  him, 

The  Judge  of  all,  descended  mournfully ; 

And  of  the  golden  thrones  which  to  the  twelve 

Were  given,  one  with  a  cloud  obscured ;  this  was 

The  cause,  and  that  Iscariot's  darkened  throne. 

Then  with  veiled  countenance,  in  silent  woe, 

Gabriel  passed  o'er  me  in  the  dreadful  hour 

His  wretched  mother  Judas  bore.     Ah  !  well 

Hadst  thou  been  never  born,  nor  of  thy  soul 

Seraph  had  ever  heard,  outcast  of  God ! 

Then  hadst  thou  ne'er  the  friendship  of  thy  Lord, 

And  the  high  calling  of  his  saints  profaned ! 

Ithuriel  spake,  and  stood  with  downcast  eyes, 

Drooping  before  the  seraph.     Selia  then — 

Thou  load'st  my  heart  with  grief,  and  a  cold  shade, 

Like  twilight,  dims  my  eyes !  and  of  the  twelve 

Shall  one,  and  thine  Iscariot,  profane 

The  sacred  call  ?     This  had  the  immortals  ne'er 

Conjectured,  nor  for  sorrow  e'er  had  uttered. 


266  CHARACTERS   OF  THE  DISCIPLES. 

Say  what  his  crime  ?  and  whence  the  high  dishonor 

To  Jesus,  and  to  thec,  and  all  the  blest  ? 

Ithuriel,  speak  freely,  though  my  heart 

Fail  at  thy  words.     0  seraph,  secret  pride 

Hath  thus  his  heart  revolted :  John  he  hates 

Since  he  of  all  most  honor  from  his  Lord 

Hath  won  !     His  Lord  himself  he  hates,  though  scarce 

His  heart  avows  it ;  in  unhappy  hour, 

Deep  in  his  soul,  though  once  so  pure,  dire  thirst 

Of  gold  found  entrance.     Blinded  thus,  he  deems 

To  John  'twill  be  vouchsafed  first  to  behold 

The  Mediator's  kingdom,  and  the  rich 

First-fruits  thereof  to  gather.     This  have  I 

Oft  heard  him  in  his  solitary  walks 

Lament;  and  once, — long  will  the  horrid  sight 

Live  in  my  eyes,  and  steep  my  heart  in  woe,— 

I  saw  him  through  Benhinnon's  valley  pass, 

Though  racked  his  mind  with  impious  wishes  filled. 

Joyless,  in  meditations  sad  I  stood, 

And,  as  I  raised  my  eyes,  Satan  beheld 

Departing  from  Iscariot.     Me  he  passed 

With  bitter  scorn,  and  condescending  smile, 

Contemptuous.     Now  is  Judas'  heart  so  torn 

By  passion's  gust,  some  dreadful  deed  I  fear 

May  hurl  him  to  perdition  !     God  of  light ! 

Oli  that  thine  awful  hand  on  hell's  dark  rock 

Had  Satan  bound  in  adamantine  gyves, 

That  the  immortal  spirit,  formed  for  life 

Eternal,  from  her  sad  revolt  might  now 

Return,  that  worthy  of  her  heavenly  birth, 


CHARACTERS    OF    THE     DISCIPLES. 

And  the  creating  voice  of  God  which  breathed 

Her  immortality,  and  called  her  forth 

To  the  discipleship,  invincible 

She  might  arise,  and  like  a  seraph  bright 

Amid  the  dreadful  panoply  of  Heaven 

Abash  the  grim  destroyer ! 

Selia  then. — 

Ithuriel,  what  deems  the  Mediator 
Of  his  lost  follower  ?     His  benignant  eye 
Yet  bends  he  on  him  ?     Doth  he  love  him  still  ? 
How  manifest  his  heart  compassionate  ? 

Selia,  tliou  urgest  me,  Ithuriel  said, 
And  I  must  all  confess,  else  better  hid, 
Even  from  the  angels  !     Jesus  loves  him  still ! 
With  God-like  friendship,  not  with  empty  words, 
But  looks  of  fervent  love,  as  late  he  sate, 
With  his  disciples,  at  the  frugal  board 
Familiar,  to  Iscariot  he  spoke  : 
Alas !  thou  wilt  betray  me  !     Lo,  where  now 
Judas  approaches  us,  no  more  these  eyes 
Shall  view  the  traitor.     Seraph,  let  us  haste. 
So  spake  Ithuriel,  and  fled  ;  and  him 
Selia  in  sorrow  followed  ;  nor  remained 
John's  sacred  angel,  Salem,  a  bright  youth ; 
For  Jesus  to  his  loved  disciple  John 
Had  given  two  holy  guardians,  Raphael, 
One  of  the  seraphs,  the  chief. 

Now  hastening,  sped 
To  Jesus  midst  the  tomb,  Ithuriel, 
And  Selia,  and  them,  with  looks  of  joy, 
Soon  Salem  joined,  and  held  them  in  embrace 


267 


•268  CHARACTERS     OF    THE     DISCIPLES. 

Of  tenderness  ;  soft  glowed  his  countenance, 
Serene  in  gladness,  and  his  forehead  fair 
Beamed  with  immortal  light ;  and  as  the  gates 
Of  the  loved  morning  in  the  tide  of  spring 
Opening,  fresh  incense  breathe,  so  from  his  mouth 
Fell  the  soft  words,  in  sweetest  eloquence. 

Seraphs,  no  more  lament,  for  midst  yon  tombs, 
Near  Jesus,  stands  his  loved  disciple,  John ! 
JBehold  him,  and  forget  Iscariot ! 
As  an  immortal,  by  his  Lord  he  walks ! 
His  Lord  to  him  his  heart  divine  unveils, 
And  oft  with  him  sweetest  communion  holds ; 
As  Gabriel  and  Eloa's  friendship,  or 
The  love  which  Abdiel,  Abbadona  bore, 
While  yet  he  lived  in  God's  allegiance  ; 
Such  is  the  love  Messiah  bears  to  John ! 
Nor  he  unworthy,  for  no  fairer  spirit 
On  mortal  man  by  the  Creator's  breath 
Was  e'er  bestowed,  than  the  unspotted  soul 
Of  this  disciple ;  the  immortal  birth 
I  witnessed,  while  bright  bands  of  seraphim 
Thus  bade  sweet  welcome  to  their  sister  soul : 
"  Hail  to  thy  fair  creation,  deathless  friend, 
Blest  daughter  of  the  breath  of  God,  0  thou 
Beauteous  as  Salem,  and  as  Raphael  bright ; 
From  thee  shall  flow  clivinest  thoughts,  as  dew 
From  clouds  of  morn  descend,  and  thy  pure  heart 
With  transport  melt,  as  angel  eyes,  that  shed 
O'er  some  ennobled  deed  enraptured  tears. 
Blest  daughter  of  the  breath  of  God,  fair  soul, 


CHARACTERS     OF    THE     DISCIPLES.  269 

Sistor  to  that  bright  spirit  that  erst  breathed 
In  Adam  in  his  innocence :  thee  now 
To  thy  fair  body,  formed  by  Nature's  hand, 
We  will  conduct,  and  on  thy  face  shall  beam 
A  smile  expressive  of  its  heavenly  guest ! 
In  beauty  shall  thy  body  rise,  like  that 
Which  one  day  shall  the  eternal  Spirit  form 
From  his  adored  Christ,  most  beautiful 
Of  all  on  earth,  of  all  of  Adam's  sons 
The  fairest ;  yet  in  dust  that  form,  so  fair, 
Must  perish  !     But  thy  Salem,  midst  the  dead, 
Shall  seek  thee,  and  thy  name  shall  glorify 
When  thou  awakest ;  when  incorruptible, 
Crowned  in  new  beauty,  through  careering  clouds, 
His  hand  shall  guide  thee  to  a  blest  embrace 
From  thy  loved  Saviour,  judge  of  all  the  earth ! " 
Such  was  the  strain  sung  by  the  heavenly  choir, 
So  Salem,  and  with  silent  tenderness 
The  seraphs  o'er  the  loved  disciple  stood. 
So  stand  three  brothers  o'er  a  sister  fair, 
In  fondness  gazing :  on  soft  bedded  flowers 
She  sleeps  in  angel  beauty,  ignorant 
Of  her  blest  father's  hour  of  death ;  while  they, 
Won  by  her  silent  loveliness,  delay 
To  break  her  golden  slumbers. 

Hoscoe. 


PREAMBLE. 

HIGH  PRIEST  for  sinners,  Jesus  Lord! 

Whom  as  a  man  of  griefs  I  see, 
Thy  prayers  on  earth  while  I  record, 

If  still  in  heaven  thou  pray'st  for  me, 
My  soul  for  thy  soul's  travail  claim : 
I  seek  salvation  in  thy  name. 

PART  I. 

Baptized  as  for  the  dead  he  rose, 

With  prayer,  from  Jordan's  hallow'd  flood  s 
Ere  long,  by  persecuting  foes, 

To  be  baptized  in  his  own  blood  : 
The  Father's  voice  proclaimed  the  Son, 
The  spirit  witnessed ; — these  are  one. 

Early  he  rose  ere  dawn  of  day, 

And  to  a  desert  place  withdrew, 
There  was  he  wont  to  watch  and  pray? 

Until  his  locks  were  wet  with  dew, 
And  birds  below,  and  beams  above, 
Had  warned  him  thence  to  works  of  love. 

270 


OUR   SAVIOUR'S   PRAYERS.  271 

At  evening  when  his  toils  were  o'er, 

He  sent  the  multitudes  away, 
And  on  the  mountain  or  the  shore, 

All  night  remained  alone  to  pray, 
Till  o'er  his  head  the  stars  grew  dim: — 
When  was  the  hour  of  rest  for  him? 


In  field  or  city  when  he  taught, 
Oft  went  his  spirit  forth  in  sighs : 

Ajid  when  his  mightiest  deeds  were  wrought, 
To  heaven  he  lifted  up  his  eyes ; 

He  prayed  at  Lazarus'  grave,  and  shed 

Tears,  with  the  word  that  waked  the  dead. 


When  mothers  brought  their  babes,  he  took 
The  lambs  into  his  arms,  and  prayed ; 

On  Tabor,  his  transfigured  look, 

While  praying,  turned  the  sun  to  shade, 

And  forms  too  pure  for  human  sight, 

Grew  visible  amidst  his  light. 


"  0  Father  !  save  me  from  this  hour, 
Yet  for  this  hour  to  earth  I  came : " 

He  prayed  in  weakness  ;  then  with  power 
Cried,  "Father!  glorify  thy  name." 

"I  have,"  a  voice  from  heaven  replied, 

"  And  still  it  shall  be  glorified." 


272  OUR  SAVIOUR'S  PRAYERS. 

PART   II. 

For  Peter,  bold  in  speech  and  brave 
In  act,  yet  in  temptation  frail 

(As  once  he  proved  him  on  the  wave), 
He  pray'd  lest  his  weak  faith  should  fail ; 

And  when  by  Satan's  snare  enthralFd, 

His  eye  the  wanderer  recall' d. 

Amidst  his  mournful  family, 

Who  soon  must  see  his  face  no  more, 

With  what  divine  discourse  did  he 

Strength  to  their  fainting  souls  restore ! 

Then  pray'd  for  all  his  people  : — where 

Have  words  recorded  such  a  prayer  ? 

Next,  with  strong  cries  and  bitter  tears, 
Thrice  hallow'd  he  that  doleful  ground, 

Where,  trembling  with  mysterious  fears, 
His  sweat  like  blood-drops  fell  around, 

And  being  in  an  agony, 

He  prayed  yet  more  earnestly. 

Here  oft  in  spirit  let  me  kneel, 

Share  in  the  speechless  griefs  I  see, 

And  while  lie  felt  what  I  should  feel, 
Feel  all  his  power  of  love  to  me, 

Break  my  hard  heart,  and  grace  supply 

For  him  who  died  for  me  to  die. 


OUR   SAVIOUR'S   PRAYERS.  273 

Stretched  on  the  ignominious  tree 

For  those  whose  hands  had  nail'd  him  there, 
Who  stood  and  mock'd  his  misery, 

He  offer'd  up  his  latest  prayer  ; 
Then  with  the  voice  of  victory  cried, 
"Tis  finished  !"  bow'd  his  head,  and  died. 

Then  all  his  prayers  were  answered  ; — all 
The  fruits  of  his  soul's  travail  gained  ; 

The  cup  of  wormwood  and  of  gall 

Down  to  the  dregs  his  lips  had  drain'd ; 

Accomplish' d  was  the  eternal  plan  ; 

He  tasted  death  for  every  man. 

Now  by  the  throne  of  GOD  he  stands, 

Aloft  the  golden  censer  bears, 
And  offers  with  high-priestly  hands, 

Pure  incense  with  his  people's  prayers : 
Well  pleased  the  Father  eyes  the  Son, 
And  says  to  each  request,  "  'Tis  done." 

James  Montgomery. 
18 


The  days  shall  come  upon  thce,  that  thine  enemies  shall  cast  a  trench  about 
Uiee,  and  compass  thee  around. — LUKE  xix.  43. 


SAD  thought,  that  from  the  lorn  funereal  mount, 
Whereon  a  victim  God  thou  didst  behold, 
Once  more  returnest,  with  thy  downcast  front, 

Weeping  vain  tears  ! — 0,  whither  dost  thou  hold 
Thy  wayward  course,  and,  'midst  yon  mournful  plain. 
What  scene  of  grief  and  terror  dost  unfold  ? 

Lo  !  the  vast  hills  their  laboring  fires  unchain, 
Whilst  from  afar  the  ocean's  thunders  roar  ; 
Lo !  the  dark  heavens  above  lament  in  rain 

The  mortal  sin  ;  and,  from  her  inmost  core, 
Earth,  tremulous  and  uncertain,  rocks  with  fear, 
Lest  the  abyss  her  ancient  deluge  pour. 

All  me  ! — revealed  within  my  soul  I  hear 
Prophetic  throbs,  the  signs  of  wrath  divine, 
Tumultuous  as  though  Nature's  end  was  near 

I  see  the  paths  of  impious  Palestine ; 
I  see  old  Jordan,  as  each  shore  he  laves, 

Turbid  and  slow,  towards  the  sea  decline. 

274 


JERUSALEM.  275 

Here  passed  the  ark  o'  th'  covenant,  and  waves 
Rolled  backward  reverent,  and  their  secrets  bared, 
Leaving  their  gulfs  and  their  profoundest  caves. 

Here  folded  all  the  flock,  whose  faith  repaired 
To  Him,  that  Shepherd  whom  the  all-hoping  one 
'Midst  woods  and  rocks  to  the  deaf  world  declared. 

Him,  after  labors  long,  the  glorious  Son, 
The  Lord  of  Nazareth,  joined,  and,  quickly  known, 
Closed  what  his  great  precursor  had  begun. 

Then  sudden  through  the  serene  air  there  shone 
A  lamb,  and  lo  !  "  This  is  my  Son  beloved  !" 
From  the  bright  cloud  a  voice  was  heard  to  own. 

River  divine  !  which  then  electric  moved 
From  out  thine  inmost  bowers  to  kiss  those  feet, 
Blessing  thy  waters  with  that  sight  approved : 

Tell  me,  where  did  thy  waves  divided  meet, 
Enamored, — and,  ah  !  where  upon  thy  shore 
Were  marked  the  footsteps  of  my  Jesus  sweet  ? 

Tell  me,  where  now  the  rose  and  lilies  hoar, 
Which  wheresoe'er  the  immortal  footsteps  trod, 
Sprang  fragrant  from  thy  dewy  emerald  floor  ? 

Alas  !  thou  meanest  loud,  thy  willows  nod, 
Thy  gulfs  in  hollow  murmurs  seem  to  say, 
That  all  thy  joy  to  grief  is  changed  by  God. 

Such  wert  thou  not,  0  Jordan,  when  the  sway 
Of  David's  line,  alonp;  thy  listening  flood, 


276  JERUSALEM. 

Portentous  signs  from  heaven  confirmed  each  day. 
Then  didst  thou  see  how  fierce  the  savage  brood 
Of  haughty  Midian  and  proud  Moab's  line, 
Conquered  and  captive,  on  thy  bridges  stood. 

Then  Sion's  warriors,  listed  round  her  shrine, 
Gazed  from  their  towers  of  strength,  and  viewed  afar 
The  scattered  hosts  of  the  lost  Philistine  ; 

Whilst,  terror  of  each  giant  conqueror, 
Roared  Judah's  lion,  leaping  in  his  pride, 
'Midst  the  wild  pomp  of  their  barbaric  war. 

But  Salem's  glory  faded,  as  the  tide 
Of  waves  that  ebb  and  flow,  and  naught  remains 
Save  a  scorned  word  for  scoffers  to  deride. 

The  splendor  of  Mount  Carmel  treads  her  plains, 
The  Saviour  of  lost  Israel  now  appears, 
And  faithless  Sion  all  his  love  disdains. 

The  Proud  One  would  not  that  her  prophet's  tear? 
Should  be  remembered,  nor  the  voice  inspired, 
Which,  wailing  for  her  wrong,  late  filled  her  ears; 

When,  with  prophetic  inspiration  fired, 
The  cloud  that  forms  the  future  dark  disguise 
Fled,  and  unveiled  the  lamb  of  God  desired. 

Daughter  of  foul  iniquity ;  the  guise, 
Of  impious  Babylon  did  thy  garment  make, 
And  on  the  light  of  truth  sealed  up  thine  eyes. 

But  he,  that  God,  dishonored  for  thy  sake, 


JERUSALEM.  277 

Soon  shalt  thou,  in  omnipotent 'disdain, 
Behold  him  vengeance  for  his  Son  awake. 

Under  his  feet  the  heavens  and  starry  train 
Tremble  and  roll ;  the  howling  whirlwinds  fly, 
Calling  each  tempest-winged  hurricane, 

Chanting  its  thunder-psalm  throughout  the  sky  ; 
And,  filled  with  arrows  of  consuming  fire 
His  quiver  he  hath  slung  upon  his  thigh. 

As  smoke  before  the  storm's  ungoverned  ire, 
The  mountains  melt  before  his  dread  approach, 
The  rapid  eye  marks  not  the  avenging  fire  ; 

Whilst,  burning  to  remove  the  foul  reproach, 
Now  from  Ausonia's  strand  the  troop  departs 
On  the  inviolate  temple  to  encroach. 

Cedron  afar  the  murmur  hears,  and  starts ; 
But,  lifting  not  to  heaven  his  trembling  font, 
Though  Siloa's  slender  brook  confounded  darts. 

Now  scorning  to  attire  with  splendor  wont 
Thy  plains,  the  sun  eclipses,  and  the  brand 
God  from  the  sheath  draws  on  thy  impious  front. 

I  see  his  lightnings  flash  upon  the  band 
Of  armies  round  thy  synagogue  impure, 
Thine  altars  blazing  as  the  fires  expand ! 

I  see  where  War,  and  Death,  and  Fear,  secure, 
'Midst  the  hoarse  clang  of  each  terrific  sound, 
Gigantic  stalk  through  falling  towers  obscure  ! 


278  JERUSALEM. 

Like  deer,  when  sharp  the  springing  tigers  bound 
Upon  their  timid  troop,  thy  virgin  trains 
And  sires  unwarlike  every  fane  surround, 

With  glaring  eyeballs  and  distended  veins, 
Forth  desperation  flies  from  throng  to  throng, 
And  frantic  life  at  his  own  hand  disdains. 

Disorder  follows  fast,  and  shrieks  prolong 
The  hideous  tumult.     Then  the  city  falls, 
Avenging  horribly  her  prophet's  wrong. 

Amidst  the  carnage,  on  the  toppling  walls, 
Howls  and  exults  and  leaps  wild  Cruelty, 
And  priest  and  youth  and  age  alike  appals. 

With  naked  swords  and  through  a  blood-red  sea, 
Flowing  around  the  mountains  of  the  dead, 

Victorious  rides  the  insulting  enemy. 

The  flames,  the  buildings,  temple,  soon  o'crspread 
With  divine  fury,  and  the  heavens  despised 
Smile  on  the  horror  which  their  tempest  bred. 

Thus  with  foul  scorn,  dishonored  and  disguised, 
The  conquering  Latin  eagles  bore  enchained 
Jerusalem's  disloyal  ark  chastised  ; 

And  she  now  lies  with  frightful  footsteps  stained, 
Buried  'midst  thorns  and  sand,  and  the  hot  sun 
Scares  the  fierce  dragons  where  her  Judge  once  reigned, 

Thus  when  from  heaven  the  fatal  bolt  hath  done 
Sad  desolation  in  some  glorious  wood, 


JERUSALEM.  279 

Striking  the  boughs  which  upward  highest  run  ; 

Though  scorched  and  burnt,  still  o'er  its  neighborhood 
Majestic  towers  aloft  the  giant  oak, 
As  poised  by  its  own  ponderous  weight  it  stood, 

Waiting  the  thunder  of  a  second  stroke. 

From  the  Italian  of  Viango  Monti. 


xxf 


KING  of  the  dead  !  how  long  shall  sweep 

Thy  wrath  !  how  long  thy  outcasts  weep  ! 

Two  thousand  agonizing  years 

Has  Israel  steeped  her  bread  in  tears  ; 

The  vials  on  her  head  been  poured  — 

Flight,  famine,  shame,  the  scourge,  the  sword. 

Tis  done  !     Has  breathed  thy  trumpet  blast  : 
The  tribes  at  length  have  wept  their  last  ! 
On  rolls  the  host  !     From  land  and  wave 
The  earth  sends  up  th'  unransomcd  slave  ! 
There  rides  no  glittering  chivalry, 
No  banner  purples  in  the  sky  ; 
The  world  within  their  hearts  has  died  ; 
Two  thousand  years  have  slain  their  pride  ! 
The  look  of  pale  remorse  is  there, 
The  low,  involuntary  prayer  ; 
The  form  still  marked  with  many  a  stain  _ 
Brand  of  the  soil,  the  scourge,  the  chain  ; 
The  serf  of  Afric's  fiery  ground  ; 
The  slave  by  Indian  suns  embrowned  ; 
The  weary  drudges  of  the  oar, 
By  the  swart  Arab's  poisoned  shore  ; 

280 


THE    RESTORATION     OP    ISRAEL. 

The  gatherings  of  earth's  wildest  tract — 

On  burst  the  living  cataract ! 

"What  strength  of  man  can  check  its  speed  ? 

They  come  !— the  Nation  of  the  Freed  ? 

Who  leads  their  march  ?     Beneath  his  wheel 

Back  rolls  the  sea,  the  mountains  reel ! 

Before  their  tread  his  trump  is  blown, 

Who  speaks  in  thunder  and  'tis  done  ! 

King  of  the  dead  !  oh  !  not  in  vain 

Was  thy  long  pilgrimage  of  pain  ; 

Oh,  not  in  vain  arose  thy  prayer, 

When  pressed  the  thorn  thy  temples  bear  ! 

Oh,  not  in  vain  the  voice  that  cried, 

To  spare  thy  maddened  homicide  ! 

Even  for  this  hour  thy  heart's  blood  streamed. 

They  come  ! — the  Host  of  the  Redeemed  ! 

What  flames  upon  the  distant  sky  ? 

-Tis  not  the  comet's  sanguine  dye, 

'Tis  not  the  lightning's  quivering  spire, 

'Tis  not  the  sun's  ascending  fire. 

And  now,  as  nearer  speeds  their  march, 

Expands  the  rainbow's  mighty  arch ; 

Though  there  has  burst  no  thunder-cloud, 

No  flash  of  death  the  soil  has  ploughed, 

And  still  ascends  before  their  gaze, 

Arch  upon  arch,  the  lovely  blaze ; 

Still  as  the  gorgeous  clouds  unfold, 

Rise  towers  and  domes,  immortal  mould. 

Scenes !  that  the  patriarch's  visioned  eye 

Beheld,  and  then  rejoiced  to  die  ; — 


281 


282        THE  RESTORATION  OP  ISRAEL. 

That  like  the  altar's  burning  coal, 

Touched  the  pale  prophet's  harp  with  soul ; — 

That  the  throned  seraphs  long  to  see, 

Now  given,  thou  slave  of  slaves,  to  thee  ! 

Whose  city  this  ?  what  potentate 

Sits  there  ? — The  King  of  time  and  fate  ! 

Whom  glory  covers  like  a  robe, 

Whose  sceptre  shakes  the  solid  globe, 

Whom  shapes  of  fire  and  splendor  guard ! 

There  sits  the  Man  "  whose  face  was  marred," 

To  whom  archangels  bow  the  knee — 

The  Weeper  in  Gethsemane ! 

Down  in  the  dust,  aye,  Israel,  kneel, 

For  now  thy  withered  heart  can  feel ! 

Ay,  let  thy  wan  cheek  burn  like  flame, 

There  sits  thy  glory  and  thy  shame  ! 


George  Croly. 


Satrixxur's 


WHEN  all  the  cherub-thronging  clouds  shall  shine, 
Irradiate  with  his  bright  advancing  sign  : 

When  that  Great  Husbandman  shall  wave  his  fan, 
Sweeping,  like  chaff,  thy  wealth  and  pomp  away  ; 
Still  to  the  noontide  of  that  nightless  day, 

Shalt  thou  thy  wonted  dissolute  course  maintain. 
Along  the  busy  mart  and  crowded  street, 
The  buyer  and  the  seller  still  shall  meet, 

And  marriage  feasts  begin  their  jocund  strain  : 
Still  to  the  pouring  out  the  cup  of  woe  ; 
Till  earth,  a  drunkard,  reeling  to  and  fro, 
And  mountains  molten  by  his  burning  feet, 
And  heaven,  his  presence  own,  all  red  with  furnace  heat. 
The  hundred-gated  cities,  then, 
The  towers  and  temples,  named  of  men 

Eternal,  and  the  thrones  of  kings  ; 
The  gilded  summer  palaces, 
The  courtly  bowers  of  love  and  ease, 

Where  still  the  bird  of  pleasure  sings  : 
Ask  ye  the  destiny  of  them  ? 
Go  gaze  on  fallen  Jerusalem  ! 
Yea,  mightier  names  are  in  the  fatal  roll, 

'Gainst  earth  and  heaven  God's  standard  is  unfurled, 

283 


284  THE  SAVIOUR'S  SECOND  COMING. 

The  skies  are  shriveled  like  a  burning  scroll, 

And  the  vast  common  doom  ensepulchres  the  world. 
Oh  !  who  shall  then  survive  ? 
Oh  !  who  shall  stand  and  live  ? 
When  all  that  hath  been  is  no  more  : 
When  for  the  round  earth  hung  in  air, 
With  all  its  constellations  fair, 
In  the  sky's  azure  canopy : 

When  for  the  breathing  earth,  and  sparkling  sea, 
Is  but  a  fiery  deluge  without  shore, 
Heaving  along  the  abyss  profound  and  dark, 
A  fiery  deluge,  and  without  an  ark. 
Lord  of  all  power,  when  thou  art  there  alone 
On  thy  eternal  fiery-wheeled  throne, 

That  in  its  high  meridian  noon 
Needs  not  the  perished  sun  nor  moon  : 
When  thou  art  there  in  thy  presiding  state, 
Wide  sceptered  monarch  o'er  the  realm  of  doom  : 
When  from  the  sea  depths,  from  earth's  darkest  womb, 
The  dead  of  all  the  ages  round  thee  wait : 
And  when  the  tribes  of  wickedness  are  strewn 

Like  forest  leaves  in  the  autumn  of  thine  ire : 
Faithful  and  true  thou  still  wilt  save  thine  own  ! 
The  saints  shall  dwell  within  th'  unharming  fire  I 
Yes,  'mid  yon  angry  and  destroying  signs, 
O'er  us  the  rainbow  of  thy  mercy  shines, 
We  hail,  we  bless  the  covenant  of  its  beam, 
Almighty  to  avenge,  Almightiest  to  redeem  ! 

H.  II.  Milman. 


SAVIOUR  !  when  in  the  dust  to  thee 
Low  we  bow  the  adoring  knee, 
When,  repentant,  to  the  skies 
Scarce  we  lift  our  streaming  eyes  ; 
0  !  by  all  the  pains  and  woe, 
Suffered  once  for  man  below, 
Bending  from  thy  throne  on  high, 
Hear  our  solemn  litany  ! 

By  thy  helpless  infant  years, 
By  thy  life  of  wants  and  tears, 
By  thy  days  of  sore  distress, 
In  the  savage  wilderness ; 
By  the  dread  permitted  hour 
Of  th'  insulting  tempter's  power- 
Turn,  0  turn  a  pitying  eye, 
Hear  our  solemn  litany  ! 

By  the  sacred  griefs  that  wept 
0?er  the  grave  where  Lazarus  slept— 
By  the  boding  tears  that  flowed 
Over  Salem's  loved  abode — 

285 


286 


A     LITANY. 

By  the  anguished  tear  that  told, 

Treachery  lurked  within  thy  fold 

From  thy  seat  above  the  sky, 
Hear  our  solemn  litany ! 

By  thine  hour  of  dire  despair, 
By  thine  agony  of  prayer, 
By  the  cross,  the  nail,  the  thorn, 
Piercing  spear,  and  torturing  scorn, 
By  the  gloom  that  veiled  the  skies, 
O'er  the  dreadful  sacrifice, 
Listen  to  our  humble  cry, 
Hear  our  solemn  litany  ! 

By  the  deep  expiring  groan, 
By  the  sad  sepulchral  tone, 
By  the  vault  whose  dark  abode 
Held  in  vain  the  rising  God  ; 
0  !  from  earth  to  heaven  restored, 
Mighty  re-ascended  Lord, 
Listen,  listen  to  the  cry, 
Of  our  solemn  litany  ! 


Robert  Grant, 


BLEST  land  of  Judea  !  thrice  hallowed  of  song, 
Where  the  holiest  of  memories  pilgrim-like  throng  ; 
In  the  shade  of  thy  palms,  by  the  shores  of  thy  sea, 
On  the  hills  of  thy  beauty,  my  heart  is  with  thee. 

With  the  eye  of  a  spirit  I  look  on  that  shore, 
Where  pilgrim  and  prophet  have  lingered  before  ; 
With  the  glide  of  a  spirit  I  traverse  the  sod 
Made  bright  by  the  steps  of  the  angels  of  God. 

Blue  sea  of  the  hills  ! — in  my  spirit  I  hear 

Thy  waters,  Gennesaret,  chime  on  my  ear ; 

Where  the  Lowly  and  Just  Avith  the  people  sat  clown, 

And  thy  spray  on  the  dust  of  his  sandals  was  thrown. 

Beyond  are  Bethulia  s  mountains  of  green, 
And  the  desolate  hills  of  the  wild  Gadarene ; 
And  I  pause  on  the  goat-crags  of  Tabor  to  see 
The  gleam  of  thy  waters,  0  dark  Galilee  ! 

Hark,  a  sound  in  the  valley :  where,  swollen  and  strong, 
Thy  river,  0  Kishon,  is  sweeping  along ; 
Where  the  Canaanite  strove  with  Jehovah  in  vain, 
And  thy  torrent  grew  dark  with  the  blood  of  the  slain. 


287 


288  PALESTINE. 

There,  down  from  his  mountains  stern  Zebulon  came, 
And  Naphtali's  stag,  with  his  eyeballs  of  flame, 
And  the  chariots  of  Jabin  rolled  harmlessly  on, 
For  the  arm  of  the  Lord  was  Abinoam's  son ' 

There  sleep  the  still  rocks  and  the  caverns  which  rang 
To  the  song  which  the  beautiful  prophetess  sang, 
When  the  princess  of  Issachar  stood  by  her  side, 
And  the  shout  of  a  host  in  its  triumph  replied. 

Lo,  Bethlehem's  hill-site  before  me  is  seen, 
With  the  mountains  around  and  the  valleys  between ; 
There  rested  the  shepherds  of  Judah,  and  there 
The  song  of  the  angels  rose  sweet  in  the  air. 

And  Bethany's  palm  trees  in  beauty  still  throw 
Their  shadows  at  noon  on  the  ruins  below ; 
But  where  are  the  sisters  who  hastened  to  greet 
The  lowly  Redeemer,  and  sit  at  his  feet  ? 

I  tread  where  the  twelve  in  their  wayfaring  trod : 
I  stand  where  they  stood  with  the  chosen  of  God — 
Where  His  blessings  were  heard  and  His  lessons  were  taught, 
Where  the  blind  were  restored  and  the  healing  was  wrought. 

0,  here  with  his  flock  the  sad  Wanderer  came — 
These  hills  he  toiled  over  in  grief,  are  the  same — 
The  founts  where  He  drank  by  the  wayside  still  flow, 
And  the  same  airs  are  blowing  which  breathed  on  his  brow. 


PALESTINE. 


289 


And  throned  on  her  hills  sits  Jerusalem  yet, 
But  with  dust  on  her  forehead,  and  chains  on  her  feet ; 
For  the  crown  of  her  pride  to  the  mocker  hath  gone, 
And  the  holy  Shckinah  is  dark  where  it  shone. 

But  wherefore  this  dream  of  the  earthly  abode 
Of  humanity  clothed  in  the  brightness  of  God  ? 
Were  my  spirit  but  turned  from  the  outward  and  dim, 
It  could  gaze,  even  now,  on  the  presence  of  Him ! 

Not  in  clouds  and  in  terrors,  but  gentle  as  when, 

In  love  and  in  meekness,  He  moved  among  men ; 

And  the  voice  which  breathed  peace  to  the  waves  of  the  sea, 

In  the  hush  of  my  spirit  would  whisper  to  me ! 

And  what  if  my  feet  may  not  tread  where  He  stood, 
Nor  my  ears  hear  the  dashing  of  Galilee's  flood, 
Nor  my  eyes  see  the  cross  which  He  bowed  Him  to  bear, 
Nor  my  knees  press  Gethsemane's  garden  of  prayer. 

Yet,  Loved  of  the  Father,  Thy  Spirit  is  near 
To  the  meek,  and  the  lowly,  and  penitent  here  ; 
And  the  voice  of  Thy  love  is  the  same  even  now, 
As  at  Bethany's  tomb,  or  on  Olivet's  brow. 

• 

O,  the  outward  hath  gone  !  — but,  in  glory  and  power, 
The  Spirit  surviveth  the  things  of  an  hour ; 
Unchanged,  undecaying,  its  Pentecost  flame 
On  the  heart's  secret  altar  is  burning  the  same ! 

John  G-.    WJiittier. 
19 


Fmt 


BRIGHT  beaming  through  the  sky, 
Burst  in  full  blaze  the  dayspring  from  on  high ; 
Earth's  utmost  isles  exulted  at  the  sight, 
And  crowded  nations  drank  the  orient  light. 
Lo,  star-led  chiefs  Assyrian  odors  bring, 
And  bending  Magi  seek  their  infant  King  ! 
Marked  ye,  where  hovering  o'er  His  radiant  head, 
The  dove's  white  wings  celestial  glory  shed  ? 
Daughter  of  Sion  !  virgin  queen !  rejoice ! 
Clap  the  glad  hand,  and  lift  th'  exulting  voice! 
He  comes, — but  not  in  regal  splendor  drest, 
The  haughty  diadem,  the  Tyrian  vest ; 
Not  armed  in  flame,  all-glorious  from  afar, 
Of  hosts  the  chieftain,  and  the  lord  of  war : 
Messiah  comes ! — let  furious  discord  cease  ; 
Be  peace  on  earth  before  the  Prince  of  Peace  ! 
Disease  and  anguish  feel  his  blest  control, 
And  howling  fiends  release  the  tortured  soul ; 
The  beams  of  gladness  hell's  dark  caves  illume, 
And  Mercy  broods  above  the  distant  gloom. 


290 


THE    FIRST    AND    SECOND     COMING.  291 

Thou  palsied  earth,  with  noonday  night  o'erspread ! 
Thou  sickening  sun,  so  dark,  so  deep,  so  red  ! 
Ye  hovering  ghosts,  that  throng  the  starless  air, 
Why  shakes  the  earth  ?  why  fades  the  light  ?  declare  ! 
Are  those  His  limbs,  with  ruthless  scourges  torn  ? 
His  brows,  all  bleeding  with  the  twisted  thorn  ? 
His  the  pale  form,  the  meek  forgiving  eye 
Raised  from  the  cross  in  patient  agony  ? 
Be  dark,  thou  sun, — thou  noonday  night  arise, 
And  hide,  oh  hide,  the  dreadful  sacrifice  ! 
Ye  faithful  few,  by  bold  affection  led, 
Who  round  the  Saviour's  cross  your  sorrows  shed, 
Not  for  his  sake  your  tearful  vigils  keep  ; — 
Weep  for  your  country,  for  your  children  weep ! 


Yet  shall  she  rise ;  but  not  by  war  restored ; 
Not  built  in  murder, — planted  by  the  sword ; 
Yes,  Salem,  thou  shalt  rise  ;  thy  Father's  aid 
Shall  heal  the  wound  his  chastening  hand  has  made  ; 
Shall  judge  the  proud  oppressor's  ruthless  sway, 
And  burst  his  brazen  bands,  and  cast  his  cords  away ; 
Then  on  your  tops  shall  deathless  verdure  spring, 
Break  forth,  ye  mountains,  and,  ye  valleys  sing! 
No  more  your  thirsty  rocks  shall  frown  forlorn, 
The  unbeliever's  jest,  the  heathen's  scorn ; 
Tke  sultry  sands  shall  tenfold  harvests  yield, 
And  a  new  Eden  deck  the  thorny  field. 


292  THE    FIRST    AND     SECOND     COMING. 

E'en  now,  perchance,  wide-waving  o'er  the  land, 
That  mighty  Angel  lifts  his  golden  wand, 
Courts  the  bright  vision  of  descending  power, 
Tells  every  gate,  and  measures  every  tower ; 
And  chides  the  tardy  seals  that  yet  detain 
Thy  Lion,  Judah,  from  his  destined  reign. 


And  who  is  He  ?  the  vast,  the  awful  form, 
Girt  with  the  whirlwind,  sandal'd  with  the  storm  ? 
A  western  cloud  around  His  limbs  is  spread, 
His  crown  a  rainbow,  and  a  sun  His  head. 
To  highest  Heaven  He  lifts  his  kingly  hand, 
And  treads  at  once  the  ocean  and  the  land ; 
And  hark  !  His  voice  amid  the  thunder's  roar, 
His  dreadful  voice,  that  time  shall  be  no  more  ! 


Lo  !  cherub  hands  the  golden  courts  prepare, 
Lo  !  thrones  arise,  and  every  saint  is  there ; 
Earth's  utmost  bounds  confess  the  awful  sway, 
The  mountains  worship,  and  the  isles  obey ; 

Nor  sun,  nor  moon  they  need, — nor  day,  nor  night ; 

God  is  their  temple,  and  the  Lamb  their  light : 

And  shall  not  Israel's  sons  exulting  come, 

Hail  the  glad  beam,  and  claim  their  ancient  home  ? 

On  David's  throne  shall  David's  offspring  reign, 

And  the  dry  bones  be  warm  with  life  again. 

Hark  !  white-robed  crowds  their  deep  hosannas  raise, 

And  the  hoarse  flood  repeats  the  sound  of  praise ; 


THE    FIRST    AND     SECOND    COMING.  293 

Ten  thousand  harps  attune  the  mystic  song, 

Ten  thousand  thousand  saints  the  strain  prolong ; — 

u  Worthy  the  Lamb  !  omnipotent  to  save, 

Who  died,  who  lives,  triumphant  o'er  the  grave ! " 

Reginald  Heber. 


it*  the 


The  voice  of  him  that  crieth  in  the  wilderness,  Prepare  ye  the  way  of  the  Lord. 
make  straight  in  the  desert  a  highway  for  our  God.  —  ISAIAH  xl.  3. 

HARK  !  through  the  desert  wilds,  what  awful  voice 
Swells  on  the  gale,  and  bids  the  world  rejoice  ? 
What  Prophet  form,  in  holy  raptures  led, 
The  gray  mists  hov'ring  o'er  his  sacred  head, 
Prepares  on  earth  Messiah's  destined  way, 
And  hastes  the  mighty  Messenger  of  Day  ? 

Lo  !  echoing  skies  resound  the  gladsome  strain  ; 
"  Messiah  comes  !  ye  rugged  paths,  be  plain  ; 
The  Sliiloh  comes  !  ye  towering  cedars  bend  ; 
Swell  forth,  ye  valleys  ;  and,  ye  rocks,  descend  ; 
The  wither'd  branch,  let  balmy  fruits  adorn, 
And  clustering  roses  twine  the  leafless  thorn  ; 
Burst  forth,  ye  vocal  groves,  your  joy  to  tell  — 
The  God  of  Peace  redeems  his  Israel." 

How  beauteous  are  the  feet  of  those  who  bear 
Mercy  to  man,  glad  tidings  to  despair  ! 
Far  from  the  mountain's  top  they  lovelier  seem 
Than  moonlight  dews,  or  morning's  rosy  beam  ; 

294 


THE    VOICE     IN    THE    WILDERNESS.  295 

Sweeter  the  voice  than  spell  or  hymning  sphere, 
And  list'ning  angels  hush  their  harps  to  hear. 

Roused  at  the  solemn  call,  from  all  her  shores, 
Her  eager  tribes,  behold,  Judaea  pours ! 
Though  scarce  the  morn  asserts  her  doubtful  sway, 
And  doubtful  darkness  still  contends  with  day, 
I  see  them  rush,  like  rolling  surges  driv'n, 
Or  night-clouds  riding  o'er  the  glooms  of  heav'n. 
There  waves  the  white  robe  through  the  dusky  glade, 
Here  passing  helms  gleam  dreadful  through  the  shade, 
Faint  o'er  the  cliffs  the  fading  torchlight  plays, 
And  dying  watch-fires  fling  their  sullen  blaze  ; 
Fly  the  scared  panthers  from  their  pierced  retreats, 
While  Salem,  wondering,  mourns  her  desert  streets. 

k. 

Why  crowd  ye  cities  forth  ?  some  reed  to  find, 
Some  vain  reed  trembling  to  the  careless  wind  ? 
Or  throng  ye  here  to  view,  with  doting  eye, 
Some  chieftain  stand  in  purple  pageantry  ? 
Such  dwell  in  kingly  domes — no  silken  form 
Woos  the  stern  cliff,  and  braves  the  mountain  storm. 
What  rush  ye  there  to  seek  ?  some  Prophet-Seer  ? 
One  mightier  than  the  Prophets  find  ye  here — 
The  loftiest  bard  that  waked  the  sacred  lyre. 
To  him  in  rapture  pour'd  his  lips  of  fire ; 
Attuned  to  him  the  voice  of  Sion  fell — 
Thy  name,  Elias,  closed  the  mystic  shell. 

Alas !  how  dark  a  flood  of  woes  and  crimes 
Since  that  dread  hour,  has  whelm' d  the  fateful  times ! 


296  THE     VOICE     IN    THE    WILDERNESS. 

How  oft  has  Israel's  Ark,  by  tempests  toss'd, 
Sent  forth  her  raven's  wing,  and  found  no  coast ! 
Now  fairer  scenes  her  kindling  eye  discerns, 
With  hope's  green  branch  the  welcome  dove  returns, 
And,  gladly  soaring  past  the  prospect  drear, 
Hails  the  bright  star*  that  tells  the  dayspring  near. 

Yes !  surely  born  to  more  than  mortal  power, 
Glory  hath  marked  him  from  his  earliest  hour ; 
Offspring  of  age,  on  wings  of  radiance  borne, 
A  warning  Angel  told  his  natal  morn ; 
Hail'd  by  prophetic  matrons  to  the  earth, 
The  speechless  spake,  to  bless  him  at  his  birth ; 
Sweet  was  the  strain,  when  first,  with  fond  surprise, 
The  hoary  parent  kiss;d  his  infant  eyes ; 
From  his  rapt  lips  the  spell  of  silence  broke, 
And  inspiration  thrill'd  him  as  he  spoke. 

Such  was  his  birth !  nor  less  august  appears 
The  wondrous  fate  that  led  his  rising  years ; 
For  lo  !  sequester'd  from  the  haunts  of  men, 
Deep  to  the  stillness  of  some  shaggy  glen, 
Where  vice  and  folly  faded  from  his  view, 
The  lonely  youth,  impell' d  by  Heav'n,  withdrew — 
There,  near  some  brook,  that  dash'd  in  murmurs  by, 
The  rock  his  pillow,  and  his  roof  the  sky; 
Clad  in  such  savage  robes  as  deserts  yield, 
His  food  the  wild  sweets  of  the  flowery  field, 

*St.  John  is  called  the  Morning  Star  to  the  Sun  of  Righteousness. 


THE     VOICE    IN     THE    WILDERNESS.  297 

Grave,  pensive,  bold,  majestic,  undefiled, 

To  holy  manhood  dwelt  Devotion's  child ; 

Descending  angels  blest  his  rude  abode, 

He  drank  the  hallowing  flame,  he  felt  the  inspiring  God. 


Oft,  ere  the  dawn  had  tinged  the  tallest  steep, 
And  man  and  nature  still  were  hush'd  in  sleep, 
High  o'er  yon  ridge,  in  darkness  would  he  stray, 
To  muse  and  wonder  till  returning  day. 
Watch-tower  sublime  !     There,  as  the  morning  bright 
Swell'd  from  dim  chaos  into  life  and  light, 
Threw  its  broad  beams  o'er  waste  and  misty  wood, 
While  rock  and  fortress,  lake  and  glist'ning  flood 
Burst  in  full  blaze  of  splendor  to  the  skies — 
To  loftiest  thoughts  his  kindling  soul  would  rise  ; 
Till,  proudly  soaring  past  this  world  of  man, 
The  mortal  sunk,  and  Heaven  itself  began, — 
So  rapt  he  stood,  that  oft  revolving  night 
Found  him,  unconscious,  on  the  mountain's  height ; 
In  vain  the  tempest,  round  his  'fenceless  head, 
Flung  all  its  fires,  its  wildest  torrents  shed ; 
The  shelf  ring  robber  saw  his  clouded  form, 
And  fled— to  shun  the  Genius  of  the  Storm. 


Past  are  those  hours !     Along  the  silent  dews 
His  lonely  walk  no  more  the  sage  pursues ; 
With  gestures  wild,  rude  garb,  and  speaking  eye. 
An  air  of  strange  and  dreadful  majesty, 


298  THE     VOICE    IN    THE    WILDERNESS. 

Sec !  forth  he  comes,  his  holy  office  given, 
Herald  of  Christ,  high  harbinger  of  Heav'n. 
Hark !  how  the  rocks  his  warning  voice  resound, 
And  Jordan's  caverns  tell  the  strain  around ; 
While  poor  and  rich,  the  soldier  and  the  sage, 
The  bloom  of  youth,  and  hoary  locks  of  age, 
In  gathering  crowds,  Messiah's  name  adore, 
And  rush,  all  trembling,  to  the  sacred  shore. 


How  changed  the  scene !  Are  these  the  realms  of  dread, 
Which  wand'ring  footsteps  scarcely  dared  to  tread  ? 
Where  midnight  lions  roam'd  the  forests  rude,   . 
And  all  was  wild  and  frightful  solitude  ? 
Now,  lone  no  more,  where'er  it  winds  along, 
The  lucid  stream  reflects  a  listening  throng ; 
True  to  the  life  their  grouping  shadows  glide, 
And  ev'ry  passion  paints  the  breathing  tide. 
See  !  young  Amazement  starting,  as  if  light, 
Just  glanced  from  Heaven,  had  caught  his  dazzled  sight, 
While  Faith's  full  eyes  their  tranquil  homage  raise, 
And  ev'ry  feature  fixes  into  praise. 
There  kindling  Hope  with  ardent  look  appears ; 
Here  softcn'd  Sorrow  smiling  through  her  tears  ; 
While  timid  Shame,  as  if  herself  address'd, 
Blushes  to  hear,  and  sinks  behind  the  rest. 


But  yet,  not  all  unfeign'd,  Devotion  brings 
The  drink  of  life  at  Jordan's  hallow' d  springs ; 
Haggard  and  pale,  their  limbs  all  torn  and  bare, 
Not  such  yon  Essenes  from  their  cave  repair ; 


THE    VOICE    IN    THE    WILDERNESS.  299 

A  gloomy  race,  attempting  Heaven  in  vain, 
By  wanton  griefs,  and  voluntary  pain : 
Their  sullen  breasts  no  gleam  of  sunshine  cheers, 
Blaspheming  Mercy  by  eternal  tears. 

And  base  the  joy  yon  Sadducees  can  know, 
Sense  all  their  bliss,  and  pain  their  only  woe : 
Worms  of  a  day,  and  fetter' d  to  the  dust, 
They  own  no  future  dread,  no  heav'nly  trust, 
But  vacant  come  the  passing  scene  to  scan, 
And  steal  his  bright  pre-eminence  from  man. 

Far  other  those,  by  solemn  mien  confest, 
Broad  scrolls  of  scripture  blazoii'd  o'er  the  breast, 
Who  throng  around  the  Seer,  with  fiend-like  joy, 
List'mng  to  mock,  and  tempting  to  destroy — 
Saints  in  the  crowd,  a  heavenward  look  they  wear, 
But  Mammon  mingles  with  their  purest  prayer ; 
Theirs  the  proud  hope  to  sway  Religion's  rod, 
Zealots  of  form,  yet  traitors  to  their  God. 

"And  is  it  ye,"  the  indignant  Prophet  cries, 
Bright  lambent  terrors  streaming  from  his  eyes, 
"  Oh  race  of  vipers,  ye !  who  timely  come, 
To  fly  the  thunders  of  impending  doom  ? — 
Repent,  repent ;  now  think  no  more  to  plead 
Your  sacred  race,  and  Abraham's  chosen  seed. 
Behold,  He  comes  !  in  power  and  judgment,  forth, 
Who  looks  with  equal  eyes  on  all  the  earth ; 


300  THE     VOICE     IN    THE    WILDERNESS. 

Whose  piercing  glance  can  read  the  soul  within, 

And  wind  the  darkest  labyrinths  of  sin  : 

He  comes !  see !  stooping  from  the  realms  of  day, 

The  Lamb  of  God,  to  wash  your  crimes  away. 

I  lave  with  water ;  but  his  hands  inspire 

The  Holy  Spirit,  and  baptize  with  fire." 

The  sage  hath  ceased — and  mark,  how  pale  to  hear 
Mute  Expectation  stands,  and  Awe,  and  Fear  ! 
Guilt  starts  confess'd,  and  looks,  with  hopeless  eye, 
To  view  descend  some  vengeful  deity. 
But  who  is  he,  majestic,  mournful,  mild, 
Bright  as  a  god,  yet  lowly  as  a  child, 
Who  meekly  comes  the  sacred  rite  to  crave, 
And  add  fresh  pureness  to  the  crystal  wave  ? 
Well  may'st  thou  tremble,  Baptist ;  well  thy  cheek, 
Now  flush'd,  now  pale,  thy  lab'ring  soul  bespeak ! 
'Tis  He,  the  Christ,  by  every  bard  foretold ! 
Hear  him,  ye  nations,  and,  ye  heav'ns,  behold ! 
"  The  Virgin-born,  to  bruise  the  Serpent  s  head, 
The  Paschal  Lamb,  to  patient  slaughter  led, 
The  King  of  kings,  to  crush  the  gates  of  Hell, 
Messiah,  Shiloh,  Jah,  Emmanuel ! " 
§ee !  o'er  his  head,  soft  sinking  from  above, 
With  hov'ring  radiance  hangs  the  mystic  Dove  : 
Dread  from  the  cloud  Jehovah's  voice  is  known, 
"  This  is  my  Son,  my  own,  my  well-loved  Son !  " 

Baptist,  rejoice ;  thy  gifted  eyes  have  seen 
The  brightest  hour  of  man,  since  time  hath  been ; 


THE     VOICE     IN     THE     WILDERNESS.  801 

By  thee  anointed  for  the  ghostly  fight, 

Heaven's  Warrior-Son,  assumed  his  arms  of  light, 

Stern  marches  forth,  his  deadly  foe  to  find, 

And  wage  th'  immortal  battle  of  mankind. 

And  thou,  oh  saint  of  floods  !  whose  wave  hath  rolPd,, 

Pregnant  with  wonder,  from  the  days  of  old ; 

Scene  of  the  hero's  deeds,  and  prophet's  song,     . 

Still,  Jordan,  flow,  exulting  sweep  along ; 

Bright  as  the  morn  from  ocean's  wavy  bed, 

From  thee  Messiah  raised  his  spotless  head, 

Call'd  all  his  glories  forth,  and  pass'd  sublime, 

To  pour  his  light  o'er  ev'ry  darkling  clime. 


'Tis  done ;  and  vanish'd,  like  an  airy  dream, 
.The  list'ning  crowds  from  Jordan's  hallow'd  stream 
Primeval  Solitude  her  reign  resumes, 
And  Silence  saddens  o'er  the  slumbering  glooms — 
And  Prophet,  where  art  thou  ?     I  hear  no  more 
Thy  footsteps  rustle  on  the  reedy  shore, 
Nor  view  thee  sit  upon  the  moonlight  stone, 
Like  the  pale  spirit  of  the  wilds,  alone. 
Alas !  far  other  scenes  await  him  now ; 
Far  heavier  cares  oppress  his  weary  brow  : 
'Mid  Salem's  court  he  stands,  in  virtue's  pride, 
And  guilty  Grandeur  dwindles  at  his  side. 
Yet,  Jordan,  oft  shall  Mem'ry's  eye  review 
Thy  willowed  banks,  and  hills  of  distant  blue : 
There.,  if  the  wastes  no  kingly  pomp  display, 
No  festive  pleasures  crown  the  jocund  day, 


302  THE    VOICE     IN    THE    WILDERNESS. 

Yet  Pride,  and  Avarice,  and  guilty  Fear, 
Ambition  wild,  and  dark  Revenge  are  here, — 
Passions  and  Appetites,  a  fiercer  train 
Than  e'er  rushed  howling  o'er  the  desert  plain. 

Still  shrinks  he  not :  in  conscious  virtue  bold, 
No  dangers  daunt  him,  and  no  toils  withhold. 
Where  yon  proud  dome  the  sons  of  riot  calls, 
And  Salem's  nobles  crown  the  gorgeous  halls ; 
Where  every  charm  that  wealth  and  arts  supply, 
In  bright  profusion  meet  the  wondering  eye ; 
See,  stern,  unmoved,  in  native  grandeur  great, 
The  Prophet  tow'rs,  and  breathes  the  words  of  fate. 
Yes,  as  he  boldly  brands  each  dark  offense, 
Truth  all  his  arms,  his  shield  but  innocence ; 
See  Herod,  'mid  his  guards,  enthroned  on  high, 
In  pride  of  power,  in  regal  panoply 
Shrinks  ?neath  the  Hermit's  gaze,  by  conscience  stung, 
A  paler  Ahab,  from  a  bolder  tongue. 

Oh  Salem !  'mid  the  storms  that  round  thee  roll, 
Frequent  and  loud,  to  warn  thy  slumb'ring  soul ; 
Dashed  from  thy  hand  when  Judah's  sceptre  falls,       • 
And  the  stern  stranger  rules  thy  captive  walls ; 
When  now,  more  thrilling  than  the  trumpet's  blast, 
Elias  stands,  the  mightiest  and  the  last 
Of  all  the  sons  of  prophecy,  to  tell 
That  fate  comes  rushing  on  thee,  Israel  : 
Say,  canst  thou  still  the  wing  of  mercy  spurn, 
Hearing,  be  deaf,  and  seeing,  not  discern  ? 


THE     VOICE     IN     THE     WILDERNESS.  303 

Sunk  as  thou  art,  and  stained  with  holy  blood, 

Still  wouldst  thou  madly  swell  thy  guilt's  dark  flood  ? 


Yet,  Baptist,  go  exulting  to  thy  doom — 
Though  Rage  condemn  thee  to  the  dungeon's  gloom, 
Yon  dreary  vault,  where  morn  can  never  break, 
Nor  evening  zephyr  fan  thy  fevered  cheek, 
For  Friendship's  voice,  in  sorrow  doubly  dear, 
Pour  its  fond  music  in  thy  lonely  ear — 
Yea  thine  are  joys  the  tyrant  never  knew ; — 
"Hope's  fairest  flowers  thy  rugged  couch  shall  strew, 
Thy  nights  in  blissful  visions  glide  away, 
And  holy  musings  steal  its  length  from  day. 

For  thee,  oh  king,  to  drown  corroding  care, 
Command  the  feast,  and  bid  the  dance  be  there ; 
Still  'mid  thy  blazing  halls,  in  trappings  proud, 
Affect  the  god,  and  awe  the  flattering  crowd. 
Yet  though  the  lute  and  shell  and  horn  prolong 
The  burst  of  melody,  and  swell  the  song ; 
Though  witching  beauty  tries  each  wily  art, 
And  woes  and  wins  and  rules  thy  powerless  heart ; 
What  though  to  heaven  thy  guilty  revels  swell, 
Far  brighter  raptures  cheer  the  captive's  cell — 
Glad  is  the  song  consenting  tongues  record : 
"  Messiah  reigns,  high  deeds  proclaim  him  Lord. 
The  deaf  can  hear,  the  blind  receive  their  sight, 
And  wither' d  Palsy  springs  with  new  delight ; 
On  Pain's  pale  cheek  reviving  roses  bloom, 
And  shrouded  Death  starts  wond'rinor  from  the  tomb." 


304  THE    VOICE    IN    THE    WILDEKNESS. 

Enrapt'ring  thoughts  !  what  now  demands  him  more  ? 
His  task  is  done,  his  holy  cares  are  o'er  ! 
Messiah  reigns,  believed,  confessed,  adored, 
And  earth's  remotest  clime  shall  own  his  word. 
Then,  tyrant,  yield :  thy  fatal  vow  fulfill ; 
Rush,  fell  enchantress,  glut  thy  vengeful  will ; 
Exhaust  th'  inventive  cruelty  of  hate, 
And  learn  how  virtue  triumphs  o'er  its  fate. 
Backward  he  looks  with  self-approving  eye, 
Before  him  smiles  bright  Immortality  ; 
Forgiving,  fearless,  calm,  he  yields  his  breath, 
And  mounts  to  glory  on  the  wings  of  death. 

Reginald  Heber. 


The  Waij  ttf  Life. 

I  am  the  Way  and  the  Truth  and  the  Life. — ST.  Jonx  xiv.  6. 

I  SAW  a  gate :  a  harsh  voice  spake  and  said, 

"  This  is  the  gate  of  Life  ;"  above  was  writ, 

"  Leave  hope  behind,  all  ye  who  enter  it." 

Then  shrank  my  heart  within  itself  for  dread  ; 

Words  dropped  upon  my  soul  and  they  did  say, 

"  Fear  nothing,  Faith  shall  save  thce  ;  watch  and  pray  ! " 

So,  without  fear  I  lifted  up  my  head, 

And  lo  !  that  writing  was  not ;  one  fair  word 

Was  written  in  its  stead,  and  it  was  "  Love." 

Then  rained,  once  more,  those  sweet  tones  from  above, 

With  healing  on  their  wings :  I  humbly  heard, 

"  I  am  the  Life,  ask  and  it  shall  be  given  ! 

I  am  the  way,  by  me  ye  enter  Heaven ! " 

James  Russell  Lowell. 


20 


305 


Brattorltj 


WHEN  brothers  part  for  manhood's  race, 
What  gift  may  most  endearing  prove, 

To  keep  fond  memory  in  her  place, 
And  certify  a  brother's  love  ? 


Tis  true,  bright  hours  together  told, 
And  blissful  dreams  in  secret  shared, 

Serene  or  solemn,  gay  or  bold, 
Shall  last  in  fancy  unimpair'd. 

Even  round  the  deathbed  of  the  good 
Such  dear  remembrances  will  hover, 

And  haunt  us  with  no  vexing  mood, 
When  all  the  cares  of  life  are  over. 

But  yet  our  craving  spirits  feel 

We  shall  live  on,  though  fancy  die, 
And  seek  a  surer  pledge — a  seal 

Of  love  to  last  eternally. 

306 


THE     TRUE     BROTHERLY     LOVE.  307 

Who  art  thou  that  would' st  grave  thy  name 

Thus  deeply  in  a  brother's  heart  ? 
Look  on  this  saint,  and  learn  to  frame 

Thy  love-charm  with  true  Christian  art. 

First  seek  thy  Saviour  out,  and  dwell 

Beneath  the  shadow  of  his  roof, 
Till  thou  have  scann'd  his  features  well, 

And  known  Him  for  the  Christ,  by  proof. 

Such  proof  as  they  are  sure  to  find, 

Who  spend  with  him  their  happier  days  ; 

Clean  hands  and  a  self-ruling  mind, 
Ever  in  tune  for  love  and  praise. 

"v 

Then,  potent  with  the  spell  of  Heaven, 

Go,  and  thine  erring  brother  gain ; 
Entice  him  home  to  be  forgiven, 

Till  he,  too,  see  his  Saviour  plain. 

Or,  if  before  thee  in  the  race, 

Urge  him  with  thine  advancing  tread, 

Till,  like  twin  stars,  with  even  pace, 
Each  lucid  course  be  duly  sped. 

No  fading,  frail  memorial  give, 

To  soothe  his  soul  when  thou  art  gone, 


308  THE    TRUE     BROTHERLY    LOVE. 

But  wreaths  of  hope,  for  aye  to  live, 
And  thoughts  of  good  together  done. 

That  so,  before  the  judgment  seat, 

Though  changed  and  glorified  each  face, 

Not  unremembered  ye  may  meet, 
For  endless  ages  to  embrace. 

John  Keble. 


Infant  S>t 

"  The  disciple  whom  Jesus  loved." 

My  soul  took  wing,  and  hover' d  round 
The  distant  scenes,  the  hallow'd  ground 
Where  once  the  King  of  Heaven  was  found 

A  form  of  earth  to  wear  : 
The  woes  he  bore,  the  love  he  taught, 
The  death  he  slew,  the  life  he  brought, 
In  one  overwhelming  flood  of  thought 

Roll'd  on,  and  bow'd  me  ther 

I  walked  the  groves  of  Galilee  ; 

I  stood  in  spirit  by  the  sea, 

And  mused  of  him,  here  call'd  to  be 

My  Saviour's  bosom  friend  : 
Of  him  who  gave,  among  the  few 
Who  folio w'd  Christ,  the  flower  and  dew 
Of  life  to  him :  of  things  he  knew, 

And  thought,  and  saw,  and  penn'd. 

These  glorious  wonders  pondering  o'er, 
I  search'd  the  past  for  something  more  ; 

und  that  now  deserted  shore, 
My  solemn  fancy  roved  : 


309 


310  INFANT     ST.     JOHN. 

Her  eye  grew  curious  now,  to  trace 
The  lineaments  of  peace  and  grace, 
That  mark'd  the  bud — the  infant  face 
Of  him  whom  Jesus  loved. 

When  lo  !  a  lovely  vision  smiled 
Before  me,  in  a  beauteous  child, 
With  aspect  sweet,  with  eye  so  mild, 

So  deep,  so  heavenly  bright, 
The  spirit  seem'd,  with  beams  divine 
To  kindle  up,  and  fill  the  shrine, 
As,  through  a  dew-drop  clear,  will  shine 

A  ray  of  morning  light. 

Though  rude  my  lines,  my  spirit  faint, 
And  faithless  here  my  hand  to  paint 
The  beauties  of  that  infant  saint 

Which  there  my  vision  bless'd, — 
I  knew  it  was  the  fisher's  son, 
By  whom  such  mighty  works  were  done, 

Who  lean'd  oil  Jesus'  breast. 

Hannah  F.  Gould. 


Jesus  answered  and  said  unto  him,  "  Because  I  said  unto  thcc,  I  saw  thee  under 
the  fig-tree,  believest  thou? — ST.  JOHN  i.  50. 

Hold  up  thy  mirror  to  the  sun, 

And  thou  slialt  need  an  eagle's  gaze 

So  perfectly  the  polish' d  stone 
Gives  back  the  glory  of  his  rays. 

-   Turn  it,  and  it  shall  paint  as  true 

The  soft  green  of  the  vernal  earth, 
And  each  small  flower  of  bashful  hue 
That  closest  hides  its  lowly  birth. 

Our  mirror  is  a  blessed  book, 

Where  out  from  each  illumined  page 

We  see  one  glorious  image  look, 
All  eyes  to  dazzle  and  engage. 

The  Son  of  God  :  and  that  indeed 
We  see  Him  as  He  is,  we  know, 
Since  in  the  same  bright  glass  we  read 

The  very  life  of  things  below. 

311 


NATHAN A EL. 

Eye  of  God's  Word !  where'er  we  turn, 

Ever  upon  us  !  thy  keen  gaze 
Can  all  the  depths  of  sin  discern, 

Unravel  every  bosom's  maze  : 

Who  that  has  felt  thy  glance  of  dread 
Thrill  through  his  heart's  remotest  cells, 

About  his  path,  about  his  bed, 

Can  doubt  what  spirit  in  thee  dwells  ? 

"  What  word  is  this  ?    Whence  know'st  thou  me  ?  " 
All  wondering  cries  the  humbled  heart, 

To  hear  thee  that  deep  mystery, 
The  knowledge  of  itself,  impart. 

The  veil  is  raised  ;  who  runs  may  read ; 

By  its  own  light  the  truth  is  seen, 
And  soon  the  Israelite  indeed 

Bows  down  to  adore  the  Nazarene. 

So  did  Nathanael,  guileless  man, 

At  once,  not  shamefaced  or  afraid, 
Owning  him  God,  who  so  could  scan 

His  musings  in  the  lonely  shade ; 

In  his  own  pleasant  fig-tree's  shade, 
Which  by  his  household  fountain  grew, 

Where  at  noonday  his  prayer  he  made, 
To  know  God  better  than  he  knew. 


NATHANAEL.  313 

Oh  happy  hours  of  heavenward  thought ! 

How  richly  crown'd !  how  well  improved ! 
In  musing  o'er  the  law  he  taught, 

In  waiting  for  the  Lord  he  loved. 

We  must  not  mar  with  earthly  praise 
What  God's  approving  hand  hath  seal'd ; 

Enough,  if  right  our  feeble  lays 
Take  up  the  promise  he  reveal'd. 

"  The  childlike  faith,  that  asks  not  sight, 

Waits  not  for  wonder  or  for  sign, 
Believes,  because  it  loves,  aright— 

Shall  see  things  greater,  things  divine. 

"  Heaven  to  that  gaze  shall  open  wide, 

And  brightest  angels  to  and  fro 
Oil  messages  of  love  shall  glide, 

'Twixt  God  above  and  Christ  below." 


So  still  the  guileless  man  is  blest ; 

To  him  all  crooked  paths  are  straight ; 
Him,  on  his  way  to  endless  rest, 

Fresh  ever-growing  strengths  await. 

God's  witnesses,  a  glorious  host, 
Compass  him  daily  like  a  cloud ; 

Martyrs  and  seers,  the  saved  and  lost, 
Mercies  and  judgments  cry  aloud. 


314  NATHANAEL. 

Yet  shall  to  him  the  still  small  voice, 
That  first  unto  his  bosom  found 

A  way,  and  fix'd  his  wavering  choice, 
Nearest  and  dearest,  ever  sound. 


John  Keble. 


Wall, 

The  disciples  marveled  that  he  talked  with  the  woman. — ST.  JOHN  iv.  27- 

HERE,  after  Jacob  parted  from  his  brother, 
His  daughters  linger'd  round  this  well,  new  made  ; 

Here,  seventeen  centuries  after,  came  another, 
And  talked  with  JESUS,  wondering  and  afraid. 

Here,  other  centuries  past,  the  emperor's  mother 
Sheltered  its  waters  with  a  temple's  shade. 

Here,  'mid  the  fallen  fragments,  as  of  old, 

The  girl  her  pitcher  dips  within  its  waters  cold. 

And  Jacob's  race  grew  strong  for  many  an  hour, 
Then  torn  beneath  the  Roman  eagle  lay ; — 

The  Roman's  vast  and  earth-controlling  power 
Has  crumbled  like  these  shafts  and  stones  away ; 

But  still  the  waters,  fed  by  dew  and  shower, 
Come  up,  as  ever,  to  the  light  of  day ; 

And  still  the  maid  bends  downward  with  her  urn, 

Well  pleased  to  see  its  glass  her  lovely  face  return. 

And  those  few  words  of  truth  first  uttered  here, 
Have  sunk  into  the  human  soul  and  heart ; 

A  spiritual  faith  dawns  bright  and  clear, 
Dark  creeds  and  ancient  mysteries  depart ; 


316  JACOB'S    WELL. 

The  hour  for  God's  true  worshipers  draws  near  ; 

Then  mourn  not  o'er  the  wrecks  of  earthly  art ; 
Kingdoms  may  fall,  and  human  works  decay, 
Nature  moves  on  unchanged — Truths  never  pass  away. 

James  Freeman  Clarke. 


Now,  when  he  had  left  speaking,  he  said  unto  Simon,  "  Launch  out  into  the 
deep,  and  let  down  your  nets  for  a  draught."  And  Simon,  answering,  said  unto 
him,  "  Master  we  have  toiled  all  the  night  and  have  taken  nothing ;  nevertheless 
at  thy  word,  I  will  letdown  the  net." — ST.  LUKE  v.  4,  5. 

How  long  o'er  the  lake  hung  the  shadows  of  night 
That  fell  from  the  brow  of  the  mountain  around ! 

And  pale  gleamed  the  moon  in  her  palace  of  light, 
While  scarcely  was  heard  through  the  welkin  a  sound. 

All  bootless  their  toil,  and  their  sigh  filled  the  gale, 
When  blushed  011  the  highlands  the  dawning  of  day  ; 

In  silence  and  sadness  they  spread  their  white  sail, 
And  hied  on  the  face  of  the  waters  away. 

But  who  on  that  shore  moves  majestic  along  ? 

His  eye  beaming  mercy — his  arm  clothed  with  might ! 
How  he  holds  in  suspense  the  wondering  throng, 

While  they  hang  on  his  lips,  all  entranced  with  delight ! 

How  calmed  are  the  billows !  how  stilled  is  the  breeze  ! 

Earth,  water,  and  winds,  him  their  Sovereign  confess  ; 
E'en  the  birds  hush  their  chorus  amidst  the  tall  trees, 

And  the  children  of  sorrow  forget  their  distress. 

317 


318          THE  MIRACULOUS  DRAUGHT. 

None  lose  by  the  Saviour ;  once  more  at  thy  word 
The  nets  are  extended  beneath  the  blue  sea ; 

The  tribes  of  the  wide  weltering  waves  own  their  Lord, 
And  hasten  to  pay  their  allegiance  to  thee. 

C.  East. 


The  Hfmxl  of 


Jesus  saith  unto  him,  "Rise,  take  up  thy  bed,  and  walk."    And  iinmediatelj 
the  man  was  made  whole,  and  took  up  his  bed  and  walked.  —  ST.  JOHN  v.  8,  9. 

PALE,  weary  watcher  by  Bethesda's  pool, 

From  dewy  morn,  to  silent  glowing  eve  ; 
While  round  thee  play  the  freshening  breezes  cool, 
Why  wilt  thou  grieve  ? 

Listen  !  and  thou  shalt  hear  the  unearthly  tread 

Of  heaven's  bright  herald  passing  swiftly  by, 
O'er  the  calm  pool  his  healing  wing  to  spread  : 
Why  wilt  thou  die  ? 

At  his  approach,  once  more  the  troubled  wave 

Leaps  gushing  into  life,  its  torpor  gone  ; 
Once  more  called  forth  its  boasted  power  to  save, 
Which  else  had  none  ! 

Ah  !  then  his  spirits  feel  a  deeper  grief, 

When  o'er  the  rippling  surface  healing  flows  ; 
His  wasted  limbs  experience  no  relief  ; 
No  help  he  knows  ! 

319 


320  THE    POOL    OF    BETHESDA. 

Healing,  and  strength,  and  cure  for  all  his  woe, 

May  linger  round  that  sacred  fountain's  brim ; 
Yet  all  unable  he  one  step  to  go ; 

No  cure  for  him  ! 

No  friend  is  watching  there,  whose  anxious  love 

For  him  prompt  access  to  the  pool  can  win, 
Soon  as  the  angel  did  the  waters  move, 
Others  stepped  in ! 

Oh  ye  !  who  idly  pass  unheeding  by, 

Knew  ye  the  sickening  pang  of  hope  delayed, 
Your  listless  steps  would  eagerly  press  nigh, 
And  give  him  aid. 

Ah !  wretched  lot,  of  gnawing  want  to  die, 

While  smiling  plenty  mocks  us  all  around  ; 
Or,  shipwrecked,  watch,  as  we  all  helpless  lie, 
Others  home-bound  ! 

Yet  sadder  far,  to  him  who  reads  aright 
The  story  of  our  being's  end  and  aim, 
The  spirit  darkened  'mid  surrounding  light, 
By  sin  and  shame  ! 

To  see  the  impervious  clouds  of  prejudice, 

Round  which  the  sunbeams  pour  their  light  in  vain  ; 
The  dead  soul,  fettered  by  the  films  of  vice, 
Knows  not  its  chain. 


THE    POOL    OF    BETHESDA.  821 

Then  if  thy  spirit  freedom,  knowledge  drink, 

Bathed  in  that  living  fount  which  maketh  pure 
Oh !  aid  thy  brother,  ere  he  helpless  sink, 
To  work  his  cure  ! 

Hopeless,  and  helpless,  vainly  did  HE  turn 

For  help  or  pity  to  the  busy  throng  ; 
Yet  found  them  both  in  ONE,  whose  heart  did  burn 
With  love,  how  strong  ! 

Bernard  Barton. 
21 


AROUND  Bethesda's  healing  wave, 
Waiting  to  hear  the  rustling  wing 

Which  spoke  the  angel  nigh,  who  gave 
Its  virtue  to  that  holy  spring, 

With  patience  and  with  hope  endued, 

Were  seen  the  gathered  multitude. 


Among  them  there  was  one  whose  eye 
Had  often  seen  the  waters  stirred ; 

Whose  heart  had  often  heaved  the  sigh, 
The  bitter  sigh  of  hope  deferred ; 

Beholding,  while  he  suffered  on, 

The  healing  virtue  given — and  gone ! 


No  power  had  he,  no  friendly  aid 

To  him  its  timely  succor  brought, 
But,  while  his  coming  he  delayed, 

Another  won  the  boon  he  sought ; 
Until  the  Saviour's  love  was  shown, 
Which  healed  him  by  a  word  alone ! 

322 


BETHESDA.  323 

Had  they  who  watched  and  waited  there 

Been  conscious  who  was  passing  by, 
With  what  unceasing,  anxious  care, 

Would  they  have  sought  his  pitying  eye ; 
And  craved,  with  fervency  of  soul, 
His  power  divine  to  made  them  whole. 


But  habit  and  tradition  swayed 

Their  minds  to  trust  to  sense  alone ; 

They  only  hoped  the  angel's  aid, 
While  in  their  presence  stood  unknown, 

A  greater,  mightier  far  than  he, 

With  power  from  every  pain  to  free. 

Bethesda's  pool  has  lost  its  power ! 

No  angel,  by  his  glad  descent, 
Dispenses  that  diviner  dower 

Which  with  its  healing  waters  went ; 
But  he  whose  word  surpassed  its  wave 
Is  still  omnipotent  to  save. 


Saviour !  thy  love  is  still  the  same 
As  when  the  healing  word  was  spoke  ; 

Still  in  thine  all-redeeming  name 

Dwells  power  to.break  the  strongest  yoke ! 

O !  be  that  power, -that  love  displayed ! 

Help  those  whom  thou  alone  canst  aid  ! 

Bernard  Barton. 


m  this 


And  his  disciples  came  to  him,  and  awoke  him,  saying,  "  Lord  save  us :  we 
perish." — ST.  MATTHEW  viii.  25. 

WHERE  deep  Tiberias  rolls  her  waves, 
The  lowly  fisher's  bark  was  gliding ; 

The  winds  were  hushed  within  their  caves ; 
And  gayly  on  the  waters  riding, 

Was  seen  the  bark  of  Galilee, 

A  speck  upon  that  summer  sea. 


But  deep  and  hollow  murmurs  came, 
That  heralded  the  tempest  waking, 

The  gathering  cloud  and  flickering  flame, 
And  thunders  in  the  distance  breaking, 

The  storm's  first  drops  and  fitful  breeze, 

That  curled  the  bosom  of  the  seas. 


And  wild  and  high  the  billows  rose, 
Fearful  in  strength  and  proudly  foaming ; 

Starting  like  maniacs  from  repose, 
Or  dark  ami  heartless  plunderers  roaming ; 

324 


CHRIST    IN    THE    STORM.  325 

With  ruffian  grasp  they  bore  away 

That  thing  of  nought,  their  sport  and  spray. 

Now,  trembling  on  the  mountain  surge, 
Now,  dashed  amid  the  deep's  commotion, 

Now,  hurried  as  the  tempests  urge, 
Swift  as  the  sea-bird  o'er  the  ocean, — 

Now,  fluttering  o'er  the  dark  abyss, 

As  wearied  with  its  wretchedness. 

Despair  came  o'er  the  sailor's  brow, 
Amid  the  whirlwinds  fiercely  sweeping  ; 

But  One  was  slumbering  on  the  prow, 
Like  peace  amid  the  tempest  sleeping— 

Whom,  cradled  on  their  foamy  crest, 

The  angry  waves  had  rocked  to  rest. 

The  mariners,  'mid  storm  and  gloom, 

And  high  upon  the  breaking  billow, 
Turned,  as  for  refuge  from  the  tomb, 

And  knelt  and  prayed  around  his  pillow : 
Wake  !  Master,  wake  !  our  bark  is  gone  : 
And  hope  remains  with  thee  alone. 

Serene  as  Deity  he  stood — 

The  friend  of  man — the  angel's  wonder — 
Girt  with  the  attributes  of  God, 

To  calm  the  wave  and  hush  the  thunder : 
The  stormy  vassals  of  his  will 
Heard  but  their  Lord,  and  all  was  still. 


CHRIST    IN    THE     STORM.  326 

"  Peace  !  be  still ! "    The  whirlwinds  fled— 
The  conscious  billow  shrunk  before  him; 

While  nature  all  her  glories  shed, 
And  smiling,  hastened  to  adore  him ; 

Man,  trembling  heard  the  omnific  Word, 

Aiid  silently  confessed  his  Lord. 

R.  Brown. 


Ebildren  Blessed. 


Suffer  the  little  children  to  come  unto  me,  and  forbid  them  not :  for  of  such  is 
the  kingdom  of  heaven. — ST.  MARK  x.  14. 


IT  was  the  sunset  hour — and  thousands  came 
From  the  lone  villages  and  distant  hills 
Of  far  off  Galilee,  to  meet  the  Lord- 
Bearing,  with  gentle  step  and  anxious  eye, 
The  sufferers  of  their  race  to  Jesus'  feet, 
That  he  might  lay  his  sin-subduing  hand 
In  blessing  on  their  wan  and  wasted  frames, 
And  heal  them  with  a  sanctifying  touch. 


Amid  the  crowds  that,  with  adoring  looks, 
Hung  on  the  footsteps  of  the  Son  of  God, 
A  Galilean  mother  brought  her  child, 
In  its  young  loveliness — its  laughing  eyes 
Dancing  in  dewy  light— and  kneeling,  prayed 
A  benediction  from  those  sinless  lips 
Upon  the  cherub  beauty  of  the  babe— 


327 


328  LITTLE     CHILDREN     BLESSED. 

But  the  disciples  with  officious  zeal 

Silenced  the  suppliant  with  this  stem  rebuke — 

"  Why  troublest  thou  the  Master  ?" 

Jesus  heard, 

And  in  displeasure  turned  his  radiant  eye 
With  a  reproving  glance  on  him  that  spake  ; 
Then  in  a  voice  of  calm  authority, 
With  gentle  accents  briefly  thus  replied — 
"  Suffer  these  little  ones  to  come  to  me, 
Nor  let  them  be  forbidden — for  of  such 
My  Father's  kingdom  is." 

Then  Jesus  took  the  infant  in  his  arms, 
And  gently,  with  his  blessed  hand,  put  back 
The  silken  curls  that  clustered  on  its  brow  ; 
And,  bending  o'er  it,  pressed  his  holy  lips 
Upon  the  stainless  forehead  of  the  babe — 
Making  the  brow  of  childhood,  from  that  hour, 
A  thing  of  holiness — the  only  shrine 
Which  the  Redeemer  hallowed  with  a  kiss. 

"  Suffer  these  little  ones  to  come  to  me," 
Was  the  command  of  Him  who,  on  the  cross, 
Bowed  his  anointed  head,  and  with  his  blood 
Purchased  redemption  for  our  fallen  race — 
And  blessed  they!  who  to  that  holy  task 
Devote  the  energies  of  their  young  years  ; 
Teaching  with  pious  care,  the  dawning  light 
Of  infant  intellect  to  know  the  Lord : 


LITTLE     CHILDREN     BLESSED.  329 

Thrice  blessed  they !  who  guide,  with  gentle  hand, 
The  timid  steps  of  childhood  in  that  path 
Which,  rightly  trodden,  leads  the  wanderers  home, 
Where  they  shall  meet  the  teachers  and  the  taught, 
On  that  blest  Sabbath,  which  shall  have  no  end, 

0.  Huntingdon. 


The  Sftelar's  Faith, 


"  Come,  lay  thy  hand  upon  her,  and  she  shall  live."     And  Jesus  arose  and 
followed  him,  and  so  did  his  disciples. — ST.  MATTHEW  ix.  18,  19. 


DEATH  comcth  to  the  chamber  of  the  sick : 
The  ruler's  daughter,  like  the  peasant's  child, 
Turns  pale  as  marble.     Hark !  that  hollow  moan, 
Which  none  may  soothe,  and  then  the  last  faint  breath 
Subsiding  with  a  shudder. 

Deep  the  wail 

That  speaks  an  idol  fallen  from  the  shrine 
Of  a  fond  parent's  heart.     A  withered  flower 
Is  there,  oh  mother,  where  thy  proudest  hope 
Solaced  itself  with  garlands,  and  beheld 
New  buddings  every  morn. 

Father,  'tis  o'er ! 

That  voice  is  silent  which  had  been  thy  harp, 
Quickening  thy  footsteps  nightly  toward  thy  home, 
Mingling,  perchance,  an  echo  all  too  deep 
Even  with  thy  temple  worship, 
Should  deal  with  God  alone. 

330 


THE   RULER'S   FAITH.  331 

What  stranger-step 

Breaketh  the  trance  of  grief!     Whose  radiant  brow 
In  meekness  and  in  majesty  doth  bend 
Beside  the  bed  of  death  ? 

"  She  doth  but  sleep  ; 
The  damsel  is  not  dead." 

A  smothered  hiss, 

Contemptuous,  rises  from  that  wondering  band, 
Who  beat  the  breast,  and  raise  the  license  wail 
Of  Judah's  mourning. 

Look  upon  the  dead ! 

Heaves  not  the  winding-sheet  ?     Those  trembling  lids, 
What  peers  beneath  their  fringes,  like  the  tint 
Of  dewy  violet  ?     The  blanched  lips  dispart, 
And  what  a  quivering  long-drawn  sigh  restores 
Their  rose-leaf  beauty.     Lo  !  that  clay-cold  hand 
Doth  clasp  the  Master's,  and,  with  sudden  spring, 
That  shrouded  sleeper,  like  a  timid  fawn, 
Hides  in  her  mother's  bosom.     Faith's  strong  root 
Was  in  the  parent's  spirit,  and  its  fruit 
How  beautiful ! 

Oh,  mother !  who  doth  gaze 
Upon  thy  daughter,  in  that  deeper  sleep, 
Which  threats  the  soul's  salvation,  breathe  her  name 
To  thy  Redeemer's  ear,  both  when  she  smiles 
In  all  her  glowing  beauty  on  the  morn, 
Or  when  at  night  her  clustering  tresses  sweep 
Her  downy  pillow,  in  the  trance  of  dreams, 
Or  when  at  pleasure's  beckoning  she  goes  forth, 
Or  to  the  meshes  of  an  early  love 


332  THE   RULER'S   FAITH. 

Yields  her  young  heart,  be  eloquent  for  her. 
Take  no  denial,  till  the  gracious  hand, 
Which  raised  the  ruler's  dead,  give  life  to  her, 
That  better  life,  whose  power  surmounts  the  tomb. 

L.  H.  Sigourney. 


Jesus  taketh  Peter,  James,  and  John  his  brother,  and  bringeth  them  up  into  an 
high  mountain  apart,  and  was  transfigured  before  them ;  and  his  face  did  shine  as 
the  sun,  and  his  raiment  was  white  as  the  light.— ST.  MATTHEW  xvii.  1,  2. 


HAIL  !  King  of  Glory,  clad  in  robes  of  light, 

Outshining  all  we  here  call  bright ! 

Hail,  light's  divinest  galaxy ! 

Hail,  express  image  of  a  Diety ! 

Could  now  thy  faithful  spouse  thy  beauties  view, 

How  would  her  wounds  all  bleed  anew ! 

Lovely  thou  art  all  o'er  and  bright, 

Thou  Israel's  glory,  and  thou  Gentile's  light. 

But  whence  this  brightness,  whence  this  sudden  day  ? 

Who  did  thee  thus  with  light  array  ? 

Did  thy  divinity  dispense 

To  its  consort  a  more  liberal  influence  ? 

Or  did  some  curious  angel's  chymic  art 

The  spirits  of  purest  light  impart, 

Drawn  from  the  native  spring  of  day, 

And  wrought  into  an  organized  ray  ? 

333 


334  THE    TRANSFIGURATION. 

Howe'er  'twas  done,  'tis  glorious  and  divine ; 
Thou  dost  with  radiant  wonders  shine : 
The  sun  and  his  bright  company, 
Are  all  gross  meteors,  if  compared  to  thee  : 
Thou  art  the  fountain  whence  their  light  does  flow, 
But  to  thy  will  thine  own  dost  owe  ; 
For  (as  at  first)  thou  didst  but  say, 
"  Let  there  be  light,"  and  straight  sprang  forth  this 
wondrous  day. 

Let  now  the  Eastern  princes  come  and  bring 

Their  tributary  offering. 

There  needs  no  star  to  guide  their  flight ; 

They'll  find  thee  now,  great  King,  by  thine  own  light. 

And  thou,  my  soul,  adore,  love,  and  admire, 

And  follow  this  bright  guide  of  fire. 

Do  thou  thy  hymns  and  praises  bring, 

Whilst  angels,  with  veiled  faces,  anthems  sing. 

John  Nbrris.* 

*Born  1657;  died  1711. 


The  lima  ^ttfcwfid  to  %fct, 

And  I  went  and  washed,  and  I  received  sight. — ST.  JOHN  ix.  11. 

WHEN  the  great  master  spoke, 

He  touched  his  withered  eyes, 
And  at  one  gleam  upon  him  broke 

The  glad  earth  and  the  skies. 

And  he  saw  tlie  city's  walls, 

And  kings'  and  prophets'  tomb, 
And  mighty  arches,  and  vaulted  halls, 

And  the  temple's  lofty  dome. 

He  looked  on  the  river's  flood, 

And  the  flash  of  mountain  rills, 
And  the  gentle  waves  of  the  palms  that  stood 

Upon  Judea's  hills. 

He  saw  on  heights  and  plains 

Creatures  of  every  race : 
But  a  mighty  thrill  went  through  his  veins 

When  he  met  the  human  face ; 


335 


336  THE     BLIND     RESTORED    TO   SIGHT. 

And  his  virgin  sight  beheld 
The  ruddy  glow  of  even, 
And  the  thousand  shining  orbs  that  filled 

The  azure  depths  of  heaven. 

% 

And  woman's  voice  before 

Had  cheered  his  gloomy  night, 
But  to  see  the  angel  form  she  wore 

Made  deeper  the  delight ; 

And  his  heart  at  daylight's  close, 
For  the  bright  world  where  he  trod, 

And  when  the  yellow  morn  arose, 
Gave  speechless  thanks  to  God. 

John  H.  Bryant. 


Raising:  txf 

Then  said  Jesus  unto  them  plainly,  "Lazarus  is  dead."— ST.  JOHX  xi.  14. 

THE  sepulchre  was  gaping  wide, 

Its  closing-stone  was  rolled  aside, 

And  shuddering  crowds  pressed  round,  to  win 

A  sight  of  the  foul  scene  within. 

The  charnel-stream,  too  strong  to  bear, 

Ascended  on  the  healthful  air, 

And  groaning  deep  for  him  who  slept, 

Ev'n  Christ  stood  at  the  grave — and  wept. 

He  wept ! — but  his  was  not  the  tear 

Of  human  grief,  on  human  bier, 

That  gushes,  trustless  of  to-morrow, 

In  unassuaged  excess  of  sorrow  ; 

And  yet  he  wept ! — though  there  he  stood, 

In  power's  unquestioned  plenitude, 

While  every  sacred  drop  that  fell 

Was  life  to  death — was  death  to  hell ! 

But  closer  now,  and  closer  grew 

The  press  of  the  surrounding  crew, 

Who  wist  not  that  he  came  to  save, 

As  he  stooped  o'er  the  dead  man's  grave, 

22  337 


338  THE     RAISING     OF     LAZARUS. 

Aiid  gazed  with  self-communing  air 
For  a  short  space,  in  silence  there ; 
Nearer  he  stooped— and  yet  more  near— 
Hark !  heard  ye  not,  like  trumpet  clear, 
His  life-shout  in  that  mouldering  ear  ? 
Forth  sent  the  tomb  its  hidden  birth, 
For  He  who  called  was  GOD  ON  EARTH  T 


Not  faster  answers  to  the  flash 
Of  heaven  the  illuminated  ash, 
Than  followed  that  resistless  word, 
The  dead  sprang  forth  before  his  Lord. 
Bound  hand  and  foot  with  funeral  clothes, 
In  life — in  breathing  life — he  rose, 
And  cast  amid  the  astonished  crowd, 
From  his  freed  limbs,  the  loosened  shroud ! 
Health's  crimson  light  o'erspread  his  face, 
His  eye  wa's  fire,  his  step  was  grace, — 
But,  like  the  first  framed  of  mankind, 
Ere  his  full  heart  might  utterance  find. 
Complete  in  sense,  and  limb,  and  motion, 
Absorbed  he  stood  in  rapt  devotion, 
While  through  each  uncollapsing  vein 
The  rushing  life-streams  burst  again. 


All  turned  to  Christ — but  him,  with  eye 
Serenely  lifted  to  the  sky, 
Symbol,  nor  sign  of  outward  power, 
Distinguished  in  that  holy  hour, 


THE    RAISING     OP     LAZARUS.  339 

His  hand  yet  on  the  marble  rested, 
Where  late  the  reveling  worm  was  rife — 
And  awe-struck  multitudes  attested, 
"THE  RESURRECTION  AND  THE  LIFE." 

Anonymous. 


Entttj  into 


And  the  multitudes,  that  went  before  and  that  followed  cried,  saying,  "Hosan- 
na  to  the  Son  of  David  :  blessed  is  he  that  cometh  in  the  name  of  the  Lord  :  ho- 
sanna  in  the  highest."  —  ST.  MATTHEW  xxi.  9. 

LOOK  at  his  train,  the  dead  are  living  there  ; 

The  lame  are  in  his  blessed  footsteps  bounding  ; 
The  blind  are  gazing  on  their  leader  fair  ; 

The  deaf,  the  dumb  his  perfect  praise  resounding  ; 
The  widow  on  her  raised  son  is  leaning  ; 

The  father  clasps  his  daughter  roused  from  sleep  ; 
And  broken  hearts,  through  eyes  of  joyous  meaning, 

Meet  his  kind  glance  who  bade  them  not  to  weep. 

There  is  no  banner  waving  o'er  his  head, 

But  the  light  blossoms  of  the  palm-tree  bending  ; 
Not  with  rich  flowers,  or  gems,  his  path  is  spread, 

But  there  long  robes  in  rainbow  tints  are  blending  ; 
No  herald  trumpet  of  his  coming  tells, 

But  children  carol  in  triumphant  mirth, 
And  to  the  sky  their  sweet  hosanna  swells 

The  full,  the  joyous  jubilee  of  earth. 

340 


THE    ENTRY    INTO     JERUSALEM.  341 

Daughter  of  Zion !  bow  in  holy  shame ; 

Thou  didst  refuse  thy  rightful  Lord  to  meet; 
Unto  his  Father's  house,  to  thec,  he  came, 

Yet  found  not  where  to  rest  his  weary  feet. 
Yes,  scornful  Judah!  hadst  thou  known  thy  day, 

Thine  were  a  splendid,  a  secure  estate ; 
But  when  thy  Sovereign  turned  in  wrath  away, 

Thy  house  was  left  unto  thee  desolate. 

Anonymous. 


The  Widow's  mite* 

And  he  said,  "  Of  a  truth  I  say  unto  you  that  this  poor  \vidow  hath  cast  in 
more  than  they  all." — ST.  LUKE  xxi.  3. 

IT  is  the  fruit  of  waking  hours, 

When  others  are  asleep, 
When  moaning  round  the  low  thatch' d  roof, 

The  winds  of  winter  creep. 

It  is  the  fruit  of  summer  days, 

Pass'd  in  a  gloomy  room, 
When  others  are  abroad,  to  taste 

The  pleasant  morning  bloom. 

'Tis  given  from  a  scanty  store, 

And  miss'd  while  it  is  given : 
'Tis  given ,  for  the  claims  of  earth 

Are  less  than  those  of  heaven. 

Few,  save  the  poor,  feel  for  the  poor ; 

The  rich  know  not  how  hard 
It  is  to  be  of  needful  food 

And  needful  rest  debarr'd. 

342 


THE   WIDOW'S   MITE.  343 

Their  paths  are  paths  of  plenteousness, 

They  sleep  on  silk  and  down, 
And  never  think  how  heavily 

The  weary  head  lies  down. 

They  know  not  of  the  scanty  meal, 

With  small  pale  faces  round ; 
No  fire  upon  the  cold  damp  hearth, 

When  snow  is  on  the  ground. 

They  never  by  their  window  sit, 

And  see  the  gay  pass  by; 
Yet  take  their  weary  work  again, 

Though  with  a  mournful  eye. 

The  rich,  they  give— they  miss  it  not— 

A  blessing  can  not  be, 
Like  that  which  rests,  thou  widow'd  one, 

Upon  thy  gift  and  thee. 

Letitia  E.  Landon. 


from  3$touttt  ®Ut;st  ? 


And  as  he  sat  upon  the  Mount  of  Olives,  over  against  the  temple,  Peter,  and 
James,  and  John,  and  Andrew,  asked  him  privately,  "  Tell  us  when  shall  these 
things  be  ?  —  ST.  MARK  xiii.  3,  4. 

WHO  gazes  from  Mount  Olivet, 

His  dovelike  eyes  with  sorrow  wet  — 

His  bosom  with  compassion  heaving, 

His  mighty  heart  with  sorrow  grieving? 

Who  searches  with  unerring  eye 

Into  thy  sad  futurity, 

Jerusalem  !  and  sees  thy  doom 

Written  by  imperial  Rome  ;  — 

Famine,  Slaughter,  Fire,  agreed 

On  thy  precious  ones  to  feed, 

Ruin  round  thy  bulwarks  wrap, 

And  the  pagan  eagle  flap 

O'er  the  sacred  mercy-seat  ? 

Who  is  he  that  sees  it  all  ? 

Sees,  when  sacrilegious  feet 

Tread  on  Zion  —  when  the  call 

Is  for  vengeance  most  complete  ? 

He,  the  prophet,  pilgrim-shod  ; 

He,  the  very  Son  of  God! 


WHO     GAZES     FROM     MOUNT     OLIVET?  345 

Years  sweep  on  ! — Jerusalem ! 
Thee  the  Roman  armies  hem. 
Countless  legions  on  thee  press ; 
Clouds  of  arrows  thee  distress ; 
Stone  and  dart  and  javelin 
Entrance  to  thy  treasures  win. 
Hippicus,  Autonia,  fall, 
Mariamnc — and  thy  wall 
Pierced  with  gates  of  burnisli'd  gold— 
And  the  holy  house  of  old, 
Yield  unto  the  dreadful  strife 
Heavens !  the  sacrifice  of  life  ! 
Murder,  plunder,  leagued  in  band, 
Stalk  amid  thee,  hand  in  hand ; — 
Cedron  is  a  pool  of  gore, 
Olivet  is  fortress  made. 
Mercy  !  that  the  towers  of  yore, 
Courts  that  saw  the  world  adore, 
Should  in  dust  and  blood  be  laid ! 
Who  directs  the  furious  war? 
He,  alone,  whose  prescience  saw — 
Mightier  than  Vespasian's  son — 
He  the  ruthless  fight  has  won. 
He  the  wine-press  here  has  trod, 
He,  the  very  Son  of  God ! 

William  B.  Tappan. 


The  memorial  of  m«ij. 

There  came  unto  him  a  woman  having  an  alabaster  box  of  veiy  precious  oint 
ment,  and  poured  it  on  his  head  as  he  sat  at  meat. — ST.  MATTHEW  xxvi.  7 

THOU  hast  thy  record  in  the  monarch's  hall ; 

And  on  the  waters  of  the  far  mid  sea ; 
And  where  the  mighty  mountain-shadows  fall, 

The  Alpine  hamlet  keeps  a  thought  of  thee ; 

"Where'er  beneath  some  oriental  tree, 
The  Christian  traveler  rests — where'er  the  child 

Looks  upward  from  the  English  mother's  knee, 
With  earnest  eyes  in  wondering  reverence  mild, 
There  art  thou  known — where'er  the  Book  of  Light 
Bears  hope  and  healing,  there,  beyond  all  blight, 

Is  borne  thy  memory,  and  all  praise  above  ; 
Oh !  say,  what  deed  so  lifted  thy  sweet  name, 
Mary !  to  that  pure  silent  place  of  fame  ? 

One  lowly  office  of  exceeding  love ! 

Felicia  Hemans. 


340 


tto 


And  as  they  were  eating,  Jesus  took  bread  and  blessed  it,  and  brake  it,  and  gave 
it  to  his  disciples,  and  said,  "  Take,  eat ;  this  is  my  body."  And  he  took  the  cup, 
and  gave  thanks,  and  gave  it  to  them,  saying,  "  Drink  ye  all  of  it ;  for  this  is  my 
blood  of  the  new  testament,  which  is  shed  for  many  for  the  remission  of  sins."— 
ST.  MATTHEW  xxvi.  26-28. 


ONWARD- it  speeds,  the  awful  hour  from  man's  first  fall  de 
creed, 

When  the  dark  serpent's  wrath  shall  bruise  the  woman's  spot 
less  seed ; 

The  foe  He  met— the  desert  path  triumphantly  He  trod, 

And  now  a  darker,  deadlier  strife  awaits  the  Son  of  God. 

Soon  shall  a  strange  and  midnight  gloom  involve  the  con 
scious  Heaven, 

While  in  Jehovah's  mystic  fane  the  inmost  veil  is  riven ! 

Soon  shall  one  deep  and  dying  groan  the  solid  mountains 
rend; 

The  yawning  grave  shall  yield  their  dead,  the  buried  saints 
ascend ! 

347 


348  BLESSING     THE     BREAD. 

And  yet,  amidst  his  little  flock,  still  Jesus  stands,  serene, 
Unawed  by  sufferings  yet  to  be,  unchanged  by  what  hath 

been; 

Still  beams  the  light  of  love  undimm'd  in  that  benignant  eye, 
Nor,  save  his  own  prophetic  word,  aught  speaks  him  soon 

to  die ! 

He  pours  within  the  votive  cup,  the  rich  blood  of  the  vine, 
And,  "  Drink  ye  all  the  hallow'd  draught,"  he  cries,  "  this 

blood  is  mine." 
He  breaks  the  bread:  then  clasps  his  hands,  and  lifts  his  eyes 

in  prayer, 
"  Receive  ye  this,  and  view  by  faith  my  body  symbol'd 

there ! 

"  For  like  the  wine  that  crowns  this  cup,  my  blood  shall  soon 

be  shed ; 

My  body  broken  on  the  cross,  as  now  I  break  the  bread  : 
For  you  the  crimson  stream  shall  flow — for  you  the  hand 

divine 
Bares  the  red  sword,  although  the  heart  that  meets  the  blows 

be  mine"; 

"  And  oft  your  willing  steps  renew,  around  the  sacred  board, 
And  break  the  bread  and  pour  the  wine  in  mem'ry  of  your 

Lord  : 
To  drink  with  me  the  grape's  fresh  juice  to  you  shall  yet  be 

given, 

Fresh  from  the  deathless  vine  that  blooms  in  blest  abodes  of 
heaven ! " 

Thomas  Dale. 


But  the  Comforter,  which  is  the  Holy  Ghost,  whom  the  Father  will  send  you  in 
my  name,  he  shall  teach  you  all  things,  and  bring  all  things  to  your  remembrance, 
whatsoever  I  have  said  unto  you. — ST.  JOHN  xiv.  26 

In  the  hour  of  my  distress, 
When  temptations  me  oppress, 
And  when  I  my  sins  confess, 

Sweet  Spirit,  comfort  me. 

V 

When  I  lie  within  my  bed, 
Sick  in  heart  and  sick  in  head, 
And  with  doubts  disquieted, 

Sweet  Spirit,  comfort  me. 

When  the  house  doth  sigh  and  weep, 
And  the  world  is  drown'd  in  sleep, 
Yet  mine  eyes  the  watch  do  keep, 
Sweet  Spirit,  comfort  me. 

When  the  passing  bell  doth  toll, 
And  the  furies,  in  a  shoal, 
Come  to  fright  my  parting  soul, 
Sweet  Spirit,  comfort  me. 

349 


350  INVOCATION. 

"When  the  priest  his  last  hath  pray'd, 
And  I  nod  to  what  is  said, 
'Cause  my  speech  is  now  decay'd, 
Sweet  Spirit,  comfort  me. 

When  God  knows,  I'm  toss'd  about, 
Either  with  despair  or  doubt, 
Yet  before  the  glass  be  out, 

Sweet  Spirit,  comfort  me. 

When  the  Tempter  me  pursu'th 
With  the  sins  of  all  my  youth, 
And  half  damns  me  with  untruth, 
Sweet  Spirit,  comfort  me. 

When  the  flames  and  hellish  cries 
Fright  mine  ears  and  fright  mine  eyes, 
And  all  terrors  me  surprise, 

Sweet  Spirit,  comfort  me. 

When  the  judgment  is  reveal'd, 
And  that  open'd  which  was  seal'd, 
When  to  Thee  I  have  appealed, 
Sweet  Spirit,  comfort  me. 

Robert  Herrick. 


at 


Pcacft  I  leave  xvith  you,  my  peace  I  give  unto  you ;  not  as  the  world  giveth 
give  I  unto  you ;  let  not  your  heart  be  troubled,  neither  let  it  be  afraid. — ST. 
JOHN  xiv.  27. 

THUS  spake  the  blessed  Lord, 
When  the  Last  Supper's  sacred  hour  was  done ; 

And  each  reviving  word 
Came,  like  rich  incense  from  an  altar-stone  : 
Kind,  from  those  holy  lips,  so  soon  to  breathe 
Their  last  forgiveness  forth,  and  taste  the  cup  of  death. 

"  Peace,  peace  I  leave  with  you !  " 
Thus  to  his  flock  the  glorious  Shepherd  said  ; 

And,  pure  as  morning  dew 
On  Hermon's  mount,  or  marge  of  Jordan's  shed, 
A  spell  descended  on  the  group  around — 
A  charm  of  kindling  hope — of  confidence  profound. 

"My  peace  to  you  I  give, 
Won  from  the  immortal  home  of  bliss  above, 
Where  the  redeem' d  shall  live, 

In  many  mansions  of  eternal  love ; — 

351 


352  THE     PEACE     OF     GOD. 

Peace,  like  its  radiant  source,  serene  and  cairn, 

Where  flowers  unblighted  bloom,  and  all  the  air  is  balm. 

"  Not  as  the  world  bestows 
Its  fleeting  gifts,  I  yield  my  peace  to  you ; 

No  clouds  of  death  can  close 
Around  my  Father's  house,  nor  dim  the  view 
Where  fadeless  lustre  fills  the  gorgeous  sky, 
And  sinks  into  the  soul,  and  lights  the  enraptured  eye. 

"  Earth  has  no  fount  of  peace : 
Sins,  sicknesses,  and  death  begird  it  round  ; 

Its  hopes  untimely  cease  ; 
And  baseless  dreams  its  dim  dominion  bound ; 
Here  fond  Affection  no  repose  can  gain, 
And  the  gaunt  miser  hoards  his  gold  in  vain. 

"  Here  sorrow  comes  to  all — 
For  pale  Mortality  his  standard  rears 

Beside  the  bier  and  pall ; 
And  smiles  are  quench' d  in  unavailing  tears ; 
To  Joy's  light  laugh  succeeds  the  weary  sigh, 
And  no  sweet  rose  may  blossom,  but  to  die. 

"  Then,  with  untroubled  heart, 
Look  upward  to  your  home  to  which  I  go  ; 

And  ere  I  yet  depart 

From  toil,  and  suffering,  and  death  below, 
Let  my  farewell  of  peace  your  steps  attend — 
I  go,  to  meet  in  heaven,  my  Father  and  your  Friend." 


THE     PEACE' OF     GOD. 

And  thus  the  SAVIOUR  died ! 
Thus,  to  the  hill  of  blood,  he  went  his  way, 

And  there  was  crucified, 
While  a  world's  guilt  upon  his  bosom  lay  ; 
How  should  that  risen  Lord  be  praised  and  blest, 
Who  drain'd  the  dregs  of  woe,  to  give  us  peace  and  rest ! 

Willis  G-aylord  Clarke. 
23 


The  Ifraijer  of  lesus. 


ST.  JOHN  xvii. 

FATHER  !  thy  son  beholds  the  promised  hour, 

That  beams  thy  love  and  glorifies  thy  power ; 

As  thou  hast  given  to  him  the  high  behest, 

To  call  the  wanderer,  give  the  weary  rest 

Eternal  life,  and  peace,  to  man  bestow, 

To  those  vouchsafed,  who  Thee,  the  Father,  know, 

He  hath  fulfilled  it,  magnified  thy  name, 

And  earth,  as  heaven,  attests  thy  great  acclaim. 

Now,  0  my  Father  ?  glorify  Thou  me, 

With  the  same  love  my  spirit  knew  with  Thee 

Ere  oceans  flowed,  or  worlds  in  space  were  hung, 

Or  stars  of  morning  in  their  orbits  sung. 

Breathe  on  my  soul,  thy  holy,  balmy  love, 

And  heal  the  stricken,  from  thy  stores  above, 

On  these  thy  children,  deign  a  pitying  eye, 

Wipe  Thou  the  tear,  soothe  Thou  the  secret  sigh ; 

I  pray  for  these,  yet  not  for  these  alone, 

By  those  who,  through  them,  shall  thy  Gospel  own. 

Now  in  the  world  shall  I  be  found  no  more ; 

My  mission  ended,  all  my  sufferings  o'er, 

354 


THE     PRAYER     OF     JESUS.  355 

0  righteous  Father  !  I  return  to  Thee, 

The  man  of  sorrows,  from  each  sorrow  free  ; 
Glad  rays,  ethereal,  wake  the  peerless  morn, 

1  see  in  vision,  nations  hail  thy  dawn, 
Swift  as  thy  car,  I  view  its  glories  run, 

And  kingdoms  with  Thee  own  thy  joyful  Son. 

William  B.  Tappan. 


Sxxrratxn 


And  when  he  rose  up  from  prayer,  and  was  come  to  his  disciples,  he  found  them 
sleeping  for  sorrow — ST.  LUKE  xxii.  45. 

UPON  the  cold,  cold  earth  they  lie, 

While  night-winds  wildly  o'er  them  sweep, 

Their  canopy  the  cloudless  sky, 

And  they  are  sad,  and  yet  they  sleep. 

Their  master,  Saviour,  guide,  their  all, 

Their  polar  star  on  life's  dark  deep, 
Is  soon  by  traitor  hands  to  fall ; 

They  fear  it,  yet  in  grief  they  sleep. 

Yes  !  the  big  drops  of  agony, 

The  cold  dank  limbs  of  Jesus  steep, 
And  they  so  near  him  close  the  eye 

Of  sorrow,  and  for  grief  they  sleep. 

How  soundly  sleep  !  though  nature  sighs, 
And  heaven  is  sad,  and  seraphs  weep, 

And,  to  his  God  in  sorrow,  cries 

Their  tortured  friend — and  yet  they  sleep 

356 


SLEEPING    FOR    SORROW.  357 

Oh,  what  strange  anguish  must  have  wrung 

Their  hearts  on  Olive's  rocky  steep, 
When  nature  failed,  and  all  unstrung, 

They  sank  into  reluctant  sleep. 

But  He,  who  led  them  from  the  shore 

Of  their  own  native  lake,  to  sweep 
Their  nets  for  men,  though  lone  and  poor, 

Assuaged  their  sorrow  by  a  sleep ; 

And  when,  by  slumber,  nerved  to  bear 

The  vigils  of  the  night,  whose  deep 
Dark  tragedy,  'twas  theirs  to  share, 

He  gently  broke  their  mournful  sleep ; 

Called  them  from  worldly  griefs  away, 

To  view  his  empire  on  the  steep 
Acclivity  of  heaven,  which  lay 

Far,  far  beyond  the  realms  of  sleep. 

Oh  thus,  when  I,  by  sorrow  wrung, 
Am  tempest-tossed  on  life's  dark  deep, 

The  canvass  torn,  the  helm  unhung, 
And  earthly  pilots  all  asleep  : 

May  He  who  felt,  himself,  the  throes 

Of  mortal  anguish,  o'er  me  keep 
His  sleepless  watch,  and  soothe  my  woes, 

And  call  me  from  my  sinful  sleep  ; 


358  SLEEPING    FOR     SORROW. 

Direct  my  vision  to  the  skies, 

Where  saints  forever  cease  to  weep, 

Where  seraphs  lift  unclouded  eyes. 
And  sorrow  never  sinks  to  sleep. 

J.  K.  Mitchell 


©hrist's  Laab  to 


And  the  Lord  turned  and  looked  upon  Peter ;  and  Peter  remembered  the  word 
of  the  Lord,  how  he  had  said  unto  him,  "  Before  the  cock  crow,  thou  shalt  dou., 
me  thrice." — ST.  LUKE  xxii.  61. 

THE  Saviour  looked  on  Peter.     Ay,  no  word — 

No  gesture  of  reproach !  the  heavens  serene, 

Though  heavy  with  armed  justice,  did  not  lean 

Their  ichunders  that  way  !     The  forsaken  Lord 

Looked  only  on  the  traitor.     None  record 

What  that  look  was  ;  none  guess ;  for  those  who  have  seen 

Wronged  lovers  loving  through  a  death-pang  keen, 

Or  pale-cheeked  martyrs  smiling  to  a  sword, 

Have  missed  Jehovah  at  the  judgment  call ! 

And  Peter,  from  the  height  of  blasphemy — 

"  I  never  knew  this  man  " — did  quail  and  fall 

As  knowing  straight  that  Crod — and  turned  free, 

And  went  out  speechless  from  the  face  of  all, 

And  filled  the  silence  weeping  bitterly. 

I  think  that  look  of  Christ  might  seem  to  say, 
Thou,  Peter  !  art  thou,  then,  a  common  stone, 
Which  I  at  last  must  break  my  heart  upon, 


360  CHRIST'S   LOOK   TO    PETER. 

For  all  God's  charge  to  his  high  angels  may 
Guard  my  foot  better  ?     Did  I,  yesterday, 
Wash  thy  feet,  my  beloved,  that  they  should  run 
Quick  to  deny  me  'neath  the  morning  sun  ? 
And  do  thy  kisses  like  the  rest  betray  ? 
The  cock  crows  coldly.     Go,  and  manifest 
A  late  contrition,  but  no  bootless  fear  ! 
For  when  thy  deadly  need  is  bitterest, 
Thou  shalt  not  be  denied,  I  am  here. 
My  voice  to  God  and  angels  shall  attest — 
Because  I  KNOW  this  man  let  Mm  be  clear. 

Elizabeth  Barrett  Browning, 


Satxhatl*  Iwmwf  Walk 


Did  not  our  hearts  burn  within  us,  while  he  talked  with  us  by  the  way,  awl 
while  he  opened  to  us  the  Scriptures  ?—  ST.  LUKE  xxiv.  32. 

IT  happened,  on  a  solemn  eventide, 

Soon  after  He  who  was  our  surety,  died, 

Two  bosom  friends,  each  pensively  inclined, 

The  scene  of  all  their  sorrows  left  behind, 

Sought  their  own  village,  busied  as  they  went, 

In  musings  worthy  of  the  great  event  : 

They  spake  of  him  they  loved,  of  him  whose  life, 

Though  blameless,  had  incurred  perpetual  strife, 

Whose  deeds  had  left,  despite  of  hostile  arts, 

A  deep  memorial  graven  on  their  hearts. 

The  recollection,  like  a  vein  of  ore, 

The  further  traced,  enriched  them  still  the  more  ; 

They  thought  him,  and  they  justly  thought  him,  one 

Sent  to  do  more  than  he  appeared  t'  have  done  : 

T'  exalt  a  people,  and  to  place  them  high 

Above  all  else,  and  wondered  he  should  die. 

Ere  yet  they  brought  their  journey  to  an  end, 

A  stranger  joined  them,  courteous  as  a  friend, 

And  asked  them,  with  a  kind,  engaging  air, 

What  their  affliction  was,  and  begged  a  share. 


361 


362        THE  SABBATH  EVENING  WALK. 

Informed,  he  gathered  up  the  broken  thread, 
And,  truth  and  wisdom  gracing  all  he  said, 
Explained,  illustrated,  and  searched  so  well 
The  tender  theme  on  which  they  chose  to  dwell, 
That,  reaching  home,  "The  night,"  they  said,  "'is  near, 
We  need  not  now  bo  parted,  sojourn  here." 
The  new  acquaintance  soon  became  a  guest, 
And  made  so  welcome  at  their  simple  feast. 
He  blessed  the  bread,  and  vanished  at  the  word, 
And  left  them  both  exclaiming  "  'Twas  the  Lord  ! 
Did  not  our  hearts  feel  all  he  deigned  to  say- 
Did  they  not  burn  within  us  by  the  way  ? " 

William  Cowper. 


KShrist  J^pjxBarmg:  ta  Jjlis  Bismplss, 


Then  the  same  day  at  evening,  being  the  first  day  of  the  week,  when  the  doors 
were  shut  where  the  disciples  were  assembled,  for  fear  of  the  Jews,  came  Jesus  and 
stood  in  the  midst,  and  said,  "  Peace  be  unto  you !  " — ST.  JOHN  xx.  19. 


JOY  to  all  who  love  to  talk 

In  secret,  how  He  died, 
Though  with  sealed  eyes  awhile  they  walk, 

Nor  see  Him  at  their  side  ; 
Most  like  the  faithful  pair  are  they, 
^Who  once  to  Emmaus  took  their  way, 
Half  darkling,  till  their  Master  shed 
His  glory  on  their  souls,  made  known  in  breaking  bread 

Thus  ever  brighter  and  more  bright, 

On  those  he  came  to  save, 
The  Lord  of  new-created  light 

Dawned  gradual  from  the  grave : 

Till  past  th'  inquiring  daylight  hour, 

And  with  closed  door  in  silent  bower 

The  Church  in  anxious  musing  sate, 

As  one  who  for  redemption  still  had  long  to  wait. 

363 


CHRIST    APPEARING     TO     HIS     DISCIPLES. 

Then  gliding  through  th'  unopening  door, 

Smooth  without  step  or  sound, 
"  Peace  to  your  souls,"  He  said — no  more — 

They  own  him,  kneeling  round. 
Eye,  ear,  and  hand,  and  loving  heart, 
Body  and  soul  on  every  part, 
Successive  made  His  witnesses  that  hour. 
Cease  not  in  all  the  world  to  show  his  saving  power. 

Is  there  on  earth  a  spirit  frail, 

Who  fears  to  take  their  word, 
Scarce  caring  through  the  twilight  pale, 

To  think  he  sees  the  Lord  ? 
With  eyes  too  tremblingly  awake 
To  bear  with  dimness  for  his  sake  ? 
Read,  and  confess  the  hand  divine 
That  drew  thy  likeness  here  in  every  line. 

For  all  thy  rankling  doubts  so  sore, 

Love  thou  thy  Saviour  still, 
Him  for  thy  Lord  and  God  adore, 

And  ever  do  his  will. 

Though  vexing  thoughts  may  seem  to  last, 
Let  not  thy  soul  be  quite  o'ercast  ;- 
Soon  will  He  show  thee  all  His  wounds,  and  say, 
'Long  have  1  known  thy  name — know  thou  my  face 

alway." 

John  Keble. 


Then  saith  he  to  Thomas,  "  Reach  hitlier  thy  finger,  and  behold  my  hands 
and  reach  hither  thy  hand,  and  thrust  it  into  my  side ;  and  be  not  faithless,  but 
belieying." — ST.  JOHX  xx.  27,  58. 

THERE  was  a  seal  upon  the  stone 

A  guard  around  the  tomb : 
The  spurned  and  trembling  band  alone 

Bewail  their  Master's  doom. 
They  deemed  the  barriers  of  the  grave 
Had  closed  o'er  Him  who  came  to  save  ; 

And  thoughts  of  grief  and  gloom 
"Were  darkening,  while  depressed,  dismayed, 
Silent  they  wept,  or  weeping  prayed. 

He  died ; — for  justice  claimed  her  due, 

Ere  guilt  could  be  forgiven  : 
But  soon  the  gates  asunder  flew, 

The  iron  bands  were  riven  ; 
Broken  the  seal ;  the  guards  dispersed, 
Upon  their  sight  in  glory  burst 

The  risen  Lord  of  Heaven ! 
Yet  one,  the  heaviest  in  despair, 

In  grief  the  wildest  was  not  there. 

365 


366  UNBELIEVING    THOMAS. 

Returning,  on  each  altered  brow 

With  mute  surprise  he  gazed, 
For  each  was  lit  with  transport  now, 

Each  eye  to  heaven  upraised. 
Burst  forth  from  each  th'  ecstatic  word — 
"  Hail,  brother,  we  have  seen  the  Lord ! " 

Bewildered  and  amazed 
He  stood ;  then  bitter  words  and  brief 
Betrayed  the  heart  of  unbelief. 

Days  passed,  and  still  the  frequent  groan 

Convulsed  his  laboring  breast; 
When  round  him  light  celestial  shone, 

And  Jesus  stood  confessed. 
"  Reach,  doubter !  reach  thy  hand,"  he  said ; 
"  Explore  the  wound  the  spear  hath  made, 

The  front  by  nails  impressed : 
No  longer  for  the  living  grieve, 
And  be  not  faithless,  but  believe." 

Oh !  if  the  iris  of  the  skies 

Trancends  the  painter's  art, 
How  could  he  trace  to  human  eyes 

The  rainbow  of  the  heart ; 
When  love,  joy,  fear,  repentance,  shame, 
Hope,  faith,  in  swift  succession  came, 

Each  claiming  there  a  part ; 
Each  mingling  in  the  tears  that  flowed, 
The  words  that  breathed—"  My  Lord !  My  God ! " 

Thomas  Dale 


God  so  lored  the  world  that  he  gave  his  only  begotten  Son,  that  whosoever 
believeth  in  him  should  not  perish,  but  have  everlasting  life.—  ST.  JOHN  iii.  16. 

IN  such  a  marvelous  night,  so  fair, 
And  full  of  wonders  strange  and  new, 

Ye  shepherds  of  the  vale,  declare, 
"Who  saw  the  greatest  wonder  ?     Who  ? 

FIRST. 
I  saw  the  trembling  fire  look  wan. 

SECOND. 
I  saw  the  sun  shed  tears  of  blood. 

THIRD. 
I  saw  a  God  become  a  man. 

FOURTH. 
I  saw  a  man  become  a  God. 


0  !  wondrous  marvels  !     At  the  thought 
The  bosom's  awe  and  reverence  move. 

But  who  such  prodigies  hath  wrought  ? 
Who  gave  such  wonders  birth  ?     'Twas  love  ! 

367 


DIVINE     LOVE. 


What  called  from  Heaven  that  flame  divine 
Which  streams  in  glory  from  above  : 

And  bid  it  o'er  earth's  bosom  shine, 
And  bless  us  with  its  brightness  ?     Love  ! 


Who  bade  the  glorious  sun  arrest 

His  course,  and  o'er  heaven's  concave  move 
In  tears — the  saddest,  loneliest 

Of  the  celestial  orbs  ?     'Twas  love ! 


Who  raised  the  human  race  so  high, 
E'en  to  the  starry  seats  above, 

That,  for  our  mortal  progeny, 

A  man  became  a  God  ?     'Twas  love ! 


Who  humbled  from  the  seats  of  light 
Their  Lord,  all  human  woes  to  prove  ; 

Led  the  great  source  of  day  to  night, . 
And  made  of  God  a  man  ?     'Twas  love ! 


Yes !  love  has  wrought,  and  love  alone, 
The  victories  all,  beneath,  above  ; 

And  heaven  and  earth  shall  shout,  as  one, 
The  all-triumphing  song  of  love. 


The  song  through  all  heaven's  arches  ran, 
And  told  the  wondrous  tales  aloud : 


DIVINE    LOVE.  369 

The  trembling  fire  that  looked  so  wan, — 

The  weeping  sun  behind  a  cloud, — 
A  God — a  God — became  a  man  ? 

A  mortal  mail  became  a  God ! 

John  Bowring. 


Hf-BxbBmsr* 


Neither  is  there  salvation  in  any  other ;  for  there  is  none  other  name  undei 
heaven  given  among  men,  whereby  we  must  be  saved.— ACTS  iv.  12. 


OH  Israel,  oh  household  of  the  Lord, — 

Oh  Abraham's  sons, — oh  brood  of  blessed  seed, — 

Oh  chosen  sheep,  that  fear  the  Lord  indeed,— 

Oh  hungry  hearts,  feed  still  upon  his  word, 

And  put  your  trust  in  him  with  one  accord ! 

For  he  hath  mercy  evermore  at  hand ; 

His  fountains  flow,  his  springs  do  never  stand ; 

And  plenteously  he  loveth  to  redeem 

Such  sinners  all 

As  on  him  call, 
And  faithfully  his  mercies  most  esteem. 

He  will  redeem  our  deadly,  drooping  state ; 
He  will  bring  home  the  sheep  that  go  astray ; 
He  will  help  them  that  hope  in  him  alway : 
He  will  appease  our  discord  and  debate ; 
He  will  soon  save,  though  we  repent  us  late ; — 

370 


CHRIST    OUR    REDEEMER.  371 

&e  will  be  ours  if  we  continue  his  5 

Be  will  bring  bale  to  joy  and  perfect  bliss  ; 

He  will  reedeem  the  flock  of  his  elect 

From  all  that  is, 

Or  was,  amissf 
Since  Abraham's  heirs  did  first  his  laws  reject. 

George  G-ascoigne.* 


*  Died  1577. 


mtj 


I  am  the  good  shepherd :  the  good  shepherd  giveth  his  life  for  his  sheep. — ST. 
JOHN  x.  11. 


GOD,  who  doth  all  nature  hold 

In  his  fold, 

Is  my  shepherd  kind  and  heedful ; 
Is  my  shepherd,  and  doth  keep 

Me,  his  sheep, 
Still  supplied  with  all  things  needful. 

He  feeds  me  in  fields,  which  been 

Fresh  and  green, 

Mottled  with  springs's  flowery  painting ; 
Through  which  creep,  with  murmuring  crooks, 

Crystal  brooks, 
To  refresh  my  spirit  fainting. 

When  my  soul,  from  heaven's  way, 

Went  astray, 

With  earth's  vanities  seduced, 
For  his  name's  sake  kindly  He 

Wandering  me 

To  his  holy  fold  reduced. 

372 


THE    LORD    MY    SHEPHERD.  373 

Though  I  stay  through  death's  dark  vale, 

Where  his  pale 

Shades  on  every  side  enfold  me, 
Dreadless,  having  thee  for  guide, 

Should  I  bide, 
For  thy  rod  and  staff  uphold  me. 

Thou  my  board  with  messes  large 

Dost  surcharge ; 

My  bowls  full  of  wine  thou  pourest ; 
And,  before  mine  enemies' 

Envious  eyes, 
Balm  upon  my  head  thou  showerest. 

Neither  dures  thy  bounteous  grace 

For  a  space, 

But  it  knows  nor  bound  nor  measure : 
So  my  days  to  my  life's  end, 

Shall  I  spend 
In  thy  courts  with  heavenly  pleasure. 

Francis  Davison. 


WEITTEN  AT  THE  HOLY  SEPULCHRE. 
I  am  the  Resurrection  and  the  Life.— ST.  JOHN  xi.  25. 

SAVIOUR  of  Mankind,  Man,  Emanuel ! 
Who  sinless  died  for  sin ;  who  vanquished  hell ; 
The  first-fruits  of  the  grave ;  whose  life  did  give 
Light  to  our  darkness ;  in  whose  death  we  live : — 
Oh !  strengthen  thou  my  faith,  convert  my  will, 
That  mine  may  thine  obey ;  protect  me  still, 
So  that  the  latter  death  may  not  devour 
My  soul,  sealed  with  thy  seal.     So  in  the  hour, 
When  thou  (whose  body  sanctified  this  tomb, 
Unjustly  judged),  a  glorious  judge  shall  come, 
To  judge  the  world  with  justice  ;  by  that  sign 
I  may  be  known,  and  entertained  for  thine. 

George  Sandys; 
*  Died  1643. 


374 


Tlrau  lie  ? 


And  he  said  unto  Him,  "  Lord,  thou  knowest  all  things  ;  thou  knowest  that  I 
love  thee."    Jesus  saith  unto  him,  "  Feed  my  sheep."—  ST.  JOHN  xvi.  17- 

A  GROUP  had  gathered  on  the  shore  that  bounds 

The  restless  waters  of  Tiberias. 

The  weary  fishermen,  who,  all  night  long, 

Had  cast  their  nets  in  vain,  now  saw  amazed 

The  wondrous  product  of  their  later  toil, 

And,Jialf  in  terror,  cried—"  It  is  the  Lord  !  " 

And  He  —  mysterious  Man  !  —  whom  late  they  saw 

Expire  in  agony  upon  the  Cross, 

Stood  calmly  in  their  midst  and  hushed  their  fear. 

Impetuous  Peter,  bolder  than  the  rest, 

Had  met  his  Master  first,  and  sought  to  prove 

His  zealous  confidence  and  greater  love. 

Him  loving,  yet  reproving  for  his  warmth, 

The  Lord  addressed  :  —  "  Thou  son  of  Jonas,  hear  ! 

And  answer  truly  if  thou  lovest  me  ?  " 

Thrice  fell  this  question  on  his  anxious  ear, 

While  wonder  first,  and  then  dismay  and  grief, 

Oppressed  him  as  his  answer  thus  he  made  :  — 

"  Yea,  Lord,  Thou  knowest  that  I  love  thee  well." 

375 


376  LOVEST    THOU    ME? 

"  ThQiifeed  my  lambs"  the  Holy  Shepherd  said: 
"  If  me  thou  lovest  more  than  all  beside, 
Then  feed  my  lambs  !    If  thou  wilt  prove  thy  zeal, 
And  thus  insure  thy  Master's  welcome  praise, 
Go  feed  my  lambs  !    I  ask  no  arduous  toil — 
No  deed  of  high  emprise  thy  powers  shall  task, 
I  only  bid  thee  feed  my  lambs! "     He  said, 
And  soon  for  heav'n  departed,  there  to  watch 
His  under-shepherds  while  they  guard  his  flock. 

Oh  ye,  whose  holy  privilege  it  is 

To  serve  him  thus,  see  that  ye  feed  His  lambs  ! 

So  shall  ye  gain  the  evidence  ye  seek, 

That  your  commission  bears  His  sacred  seal : 

So  shall  ye  prove  your  love — and  so  acquire 

The  rich  reward  on  which  your  hopes  are  fixed. 

Julian  Cramer. 


Falkxwsrs  xxf 


Follow  thou  me. — ST.  JOHN  xxi.  22. 

THE  Son  of  God  goes  fortli  to  war, 

A  kingly  crown  to  gain : 
His  blood-red  banner  streams  afar  1 

Who  follows  in  His  train  ? 

Who  best  can  drink  his  cup  of  woe, 

Triumphant  over  pain, 
Who  patient  bears  his  cross  below, 

He  follows  in  His  train ! 

The  martyr  first,  whose  eagle  eye 

Could  pierce  beyond  the  grave ; 
Who  saw  his  Master  in  the  sky, 

And  called  on  Him  to  save. 

Like  Him,  with  pardon  on  his  tongue, 

In  midst  of  mortal  pain, 
He  prayed  for  them  that  did  the  wrong 

Who  follows  in  His  train  ? 

377 


378  THE    FOLLOWERS    OP  CHRIST. 

A  glorious  band,  the  chosen  few 

On  whom  the  spirit  came : 
Twelve  valiant  saints,  their  hope  they  knew 

And  mocked  the  cross  and  flame. 


They  met  the  tyrant's  brandished  steel, 

The  lion's  gory  mane ; 
They  bowed  their  necks  the  death  to  feel ! 

Who  follows  in  their  train  ? 

A  noble  army, — men  and  boys, 

The  matron  and  the  maid, 
Around  the  Saviour's  throne  rejoice, 

In  robes  of  light  arrayed. 

They  climbed  the  steep  ascent  of  heaven, 
Through  peril,  toil,  and  pain, 

Oh  God !  to  us  may  grace  be  given, 
To  follow  in  their  train ! 


Reginald  Heber. 


Last 


Go  ye,  therefore,  and  teach  all  nations,  baptizing  them  in  the  name  of  the 
Father,  and  of  the  Son,  and  of  the  Holy  Ghost  ;  teaching  them  to  observe  ail 
things  whatsoever  I  have  commanded  you."  —  ST.  MATTHEW  xxviii.  19. 

Go  to  the  lands  afar, 

Where  the  changeless  winter  reigns  ; 
Night  hath  her  empire  there, 
The  night  of  deep  despair  ; 
Go  bid  the  morning  star 

Rise  o'er  those  snowy  plains. 

Go,  love's  soft  dew  to  shower 

On  the  far-off  southern  isles  ; 
Though  darkness  hath  her  hour, 
Truth  is  a  mightier  power  ; 
Go,  bid  the  lily  flower, 

And  the  rose  of  Sharon  smile. 

Go  where  its  glittering  wave 

The  spreading  Ganges  pours  ; 
No  hidden  power  to  save 
Those  earth-born  waters  have  ; 
Oh,  purer  streamlets  lave 

Zion's  thrice-hallowed  shores  ! 

379 


380  THE    LAST     COMMAND. 

Go  where  o'er  golden  sands 

The  streams  of  Afric  glide ; 
Bear  to  those  distant  lands 
The  Saviour's  sweet  commands, 
Firm,  firm  his  purpose  stands, — 
"Lo!  I  am  by  thy  side! " 

Wide  is  the  glorious  field  ; 

Throughout  the  world  go  forth, 
The  Spirit's  sword  to  wield, 
To  bear  the  Spirit's  shield  ; 
Till  every  nation  yield, 

And  blessings  crown  the  earth. 

Oh !  speed  the  rising  rays 
Of  the  Sun  of  Righteousness ! 

So  shall  the  glad  earth  raise 

A  noble  song  of  praise, 

Touched  by  the  light  which  plays 
From  a  nobler  world  than  this  ! 

Early  and  late  still  sow 

The  seed  which  God  hath  given ; 
Seek  not  reward  below, 
The  glorious  flower  shall  blow 
Where  cloudless  summers  glow ; 

The  harvest  is  in  heaven ; 


What  Shalt  this  Maw 


Peter,  seeing  him,  saith  unto  Jesus,  "  Lord,  and  what  shall  this  man  do  ?  "  — 
ST.  JOHN  xxi.  22. 

"LORD,  and  what  shall  this  man  do  ?" 
Ask'st  thou,  Christian,  for  thy  friend 

If  his  love  for  Christ  be  true, 
Christ  hath  told  thee  of  his  end  : 

This  is  he  whom  Christ  approves, 

This  is  he  whom  Jesus  loves. 

Ask  not  of  him  more  than  this,  — 

Leave  it  in  his  Saviour's  breast, 
"Whether  early  called  to  bliss, 

He  in  youth  shall  find  his  rest, 
Or  armed  in  his  station  wait 
Till  his  Lord  be  at  the  gate  ; 

Whether  in  his  lonely  course, 

(Lonely,  not  forlorn)  we  stay, 
Or,  with  love's  supporting  force, 

Cheat  the  toil  and  cheer  the  way  ; 
Leave  it  all  in  his  high  hand, 

Who  doth  hearts  as  streams  command. 

381 


WHAT  SHALL  THIS  MAN   DO? 

Gales  from  heaven,  if  so  He  will, 
Sweeter  melodies  can  wake 

On  the  lonely  mountain  rill 
Than  the  meeting  waters  make : 

Who  hath  the  Father  and  the  Son, 

May  be  left,  but  not  alone. 

Sick  or  healthful,  slave  or  free, 
Wealthy,  or  despised  and  poor,-— 

What  is  that  to  him  or  thee, 
So  his  love  to  Christ  endure  ? 

When  the  shore  is  won  at  last, 

Who  will  count  the  billows  past  ? 

Only,  since  our  souls  will  shrink 
At  the  touch  of  natural  grief, 

When  our  earthly  loved  ones  sink, 
Lend  us,  Lord,  thy  sure  relief; 

Patient  hearts  their  pain  to  see, 

And  thy  grace,  to  follow  thee. 


John  Keble. 


And  upon  the  first  day  of  the  week,  when  the  disciples  came  together  to  break 
bread,  Paul  preached  unto  them. — ACTS  xx.  7 


UP  steeps  reclining  in  the  autumnal  calm, 
The  woodland  nook  retired,  and  quiet  field, 

Upon  the  tranquil  noon. 

The  Sunday  chime  is  borne : 

Kising  and  sinking  on  the  silent  air, 
With  many  a  dying  fall,  most  musical 

And  fitful  bird  hard  by 

Blending  melodiously. 

The  sky  is  looking  on  the  sunny  earth, 
The  fleecy  clouds  stand  still  in  heaven, 

Making  the  blue  expanse 

More  still  and  beautiful. 

If  aught  there  be  upon  this  rude,  bad  earth, 
Which  angels  from  their  happy  spheres  above, 

Could  lean  and  listen  to, 

It  were  those  peaceful  sounds. 

383 


384  THE    CHRISTIAN    SABBATH. 

There  is  an  earthly  balm  upon  the  air, 

And  holier  lights  which  are  with  Sunday  born, 

That  man  may  lay  aside 

Himself,  and  be  at  rest. 

The  week-day  cares  from  us  like  shackles  fall, 
As  from  the  Lord,  the  clothing  of  the  grave, 

And  we,  too,  seem  with  him 

To  walk  in  endless  morn. 

Not  that  these  musical  wings  would  bear  us  up 
On  buoyant  thoughts,  too  high  for  sinful  man, 
But  that  they  speak  the  best 
Which  earth  has  left  to  give — 

Of  better  hopes,  and  prayer,  and  penitence, 
in  incense  on  the  sacred  air, 
From  many  a  woodland  spire, 
Or  hill-embosomed  fane. 

Anonymous. 


The  &ift  of 


And  there  appeared  unto  them  cloven  tongues  as  of  fire,  and  it  sat  upon  each 
of  them  :  and  they  were  all  filled  with  the  Holy  Ghost,  and  began  to  speak  with 
other  tongues,  as  the  Spirit  gave  them  utterance. — ACTS  ii.  3,  4. 


GOD'S  wondrous  power,  on  that  great  day  revealed, 
When  from  on  high  the  Sacred  Influence  fell, 
Knowledge  and  light  surpassing  human  lore. 
Diffusing  in  its  course,  vent'rous  I  sing. 
0,  fgr  one  transient  gleam  from  that  pure  fount 
Of  life  celestial,  whose  all  pow'rful  rays 
Instant  dispelled  the  mists  of  ignorance, 
Informed  the  mind,  and  urged  the  willing  tongue  ! 
0,  for  one  spark  of  that  transcendant  fire 
Which  shed  its  rapid  influence  thro'  the  soul, 
Kindling  at  once  in  the  astonished  mind 
The  sacred  flame  of  heaven-directed  zeal, 
In  strains  poured  forth  of  wisdom  heaven  taught, 
Which  in  conception  to  perfection  sprang, 
Mocking  the  tedious  steps  of  human  wit ! 
Too  vain  that  wish. — But  thou,  0  Spirit  pure  ! 
Who  deign' st  to  guide  the  wayward  heart  of  man, 
When  conscious  weakness  claims  thy  aid  benign. 

25  385 


386  THE    GIFT     OF     TONGUES. 

Thou  from  whose  eyes  the  palpable  obscure 
Nought  hides,  who  ever  mark'st  my  inmost  soul, 
And  check'st  with  care  paternal  every  ill, 
Suggesting  kindly,  pure  and  holy  thoughts, 
Frame  thou  my  mind ;  dispose  my  humble  heart 
To  feel  thy  goodnesss  and  adore  thy  might ; 
Grant  me,  with  faith  to  read  thy  wond'rous  works, 
To  hear  with  joy,  to  tell  with  gratitude  ; 
Grant  me,  at  humble  distance,  to  revere 
Those  acts  of  power  I  know  not  how  to  scan ; 
Grant  me,  with  scorn  to  view  the  sceptic's  pride, 
Who  dares  to  tread  the  dark,  meand'ring  maze, 
And  strive  with  mortal  ken  (how  short !  how  dim !) 
To  trace  the  steps  of  dread  Omnipotence  ; 
Grant  me,  with  humble  yet  exulting  mind, 
In  all  thy  wond'rous  works  to  mark  the  end, 
Nor  rashly  strive  to  comprehend  the  means ; 
To  view,  with  rev'rent  awe,  the  mighty  cause, 
And  feel  with  gratitude  the  blest  effect ; 
Grant  me,  in  this  meek,  sober  frame  of  mind, 
Yo  view  Thy  goodness,  and  to  sing  Thy  praise  ; 
So  shall  my  lays,  though  rude,  attention  claim, 
Nor  useless  sink  in  cold  oblivion's  wave  ; 
Warm  from  the  heart  they  bear  intrinsic  worth, 
And  conscience  shall  bear  witness  to  their  truth. 

'Twas  on  that  day,  that  memorable  day, 
When  erst  the  prophet  of  the  favored  seed 
From  Israel  sprung,  high-honored  Moses  held, 
With  trembling  awe,  converse  with  God  himself; 


THE     GIFT     OF    TONGUES.  387 

'TVas  on  that  day,  when  round  the  sacred  mount 

The  rapid  lightnings  shot  their  vivid  glance, 

Flashing  a  larger  and  a  larger  curve, 

Whilst  the  dread  thunder  mutt'ring  from  afar, 

With  sullen  murmur  deepening  in  its  course, 

Burst  rattling  all  around  in  discord  wild, 

When,  'midst  the  horror  of  the  awful  scene, 

The  holy  prophet  learned  those  high  behests 

By  which  to  lead  his  sacred  flock,  and  show 

Types  of  a  purer  plan  in  days  to  come ; 

On  that  same  day,  the  still  more  sacred  flock 

Of  Christ,  who  only  mourn  his  recent  loss, 

Stol'n  from  the  clamors  of  the  impious  crowd, 

In  thought  pursued  his  steps  to  heav'n,  and  cheered 

Each  other's  gr^fs  with  thoughts  of  bliss  to  come. 

*v 

Not  hopeless  did  they  grieve  ;  for  o'er  the  soul 
His  last  bequest  has  shed  a  gleam  of  joy ; 
"  A  comforter  to  come  "  restrained  their  tears, 
A  steadfast  faith  suppressed  the  rising  sigh, 
And  expectation  raised  their  downcast  eyes. 
Nor  vain  their  hope  ;  for  now  with  sudden  burst 
A  rushing  noise  through  all  that  sacred  band 
Silence  profound  and  fixed  attention  claimed, 
A  chilling  terror  crept  through  every  heart, 
Mute  was  each  tongue,  and  pale  was  ev'ry  face : 
The  rough  roar  ceased ;  when,  borne  on  fiery  wings, 
The  dazzling  emanation  from  above 
In  brightest  vision  round  each  sacred  head 
Diffused  its  vivid  beams  ;  mysterious  light ! 


388  THE    GIFT     OF    TONGUES. 

That  rushed  impetuous  through  th'  awaking  mind, 

Whilst  new  ideas  filled  the  passive  soul, 

Fast  crowding  in  with  sweetest  violence. 

Twas  then  amazed  they  caught  the  glorious  flame, 

Spontaneous  flowed  their  all-persuasive  words, 

Warm  from  the  heart,  and  to  the  heart  addressed, 

Deep  sunk  their  force  in  ev'ry  captived  ear. 

0  see  the  crowd,  pressing  with  eager  steps 
To  catch  the  flowing  periods  as  they  fall ; 
See  how,  with  wond'ring  rapture,  they  devour 
The  pleasing  accents  of  their  native  tongue ; 
See  how,  with  eyes  uplifted,  they  advance, 
With  outstretched  hands  and  smiles  of  social  love, 
To  greet  the  partners  of  their  native  soil. 
0  catch  the  varying  transports  in  their  looks, 
In  awful  wonder  sec  each  passion  lost, 
When  ev'ry  nation  urged  an  equal  claim. 
Fond  men,  forbear ;  and  know  the  voice  of  truth, 
By  weak  restraints  of  language  unconfined, 
Flows,  independent,  from  that  radiant  shrine 
From  whence  the  day-spring  draws  her  glitt'ring  store 
To  shine  on  all  with  undistinguished  ray, 
And  scatter  dazzling  light  on  ev'ry  clime. 

Thou  speak' st,  immortal  Truth  !  beneath  each  polo 
The  trembling  earth  acknowledges  thy  voice  ; 
Pride  catches  quick  the  mortifying  sound, 
Far,  far  aloof  flies  ev'ry  golden  dream, 


THE    GIFT    OF    TONGUES.  389 

And  all  is  blindfold  error  and  distress. 
0 !  'twas  that  potent  voice,  whose  magic  pow'r 
Burst  through  the  organs  of  the  sacred  band, 
What  time,  O  Salem,  'midst  thy  hallowed  walls 
The  mingled  crowd  from  many  a  distant  realm, 
In  fixed  attention  hung  upon  their  words, 
Which,  with  conviction  fraught,  flowed  unrestrained, 
Though,  skilled  alone  in  virtue's  sacred  lore, 
They  never  had  employed  life's  precious  hours 
In  learning's  paths  ;  without  proud  science  wise. 

By  weakest  ministers  th'  Almighty  thus 
Makes  known  his  sacred  will,  and  shows  His  pow'r : 
By  him  inspired  they  speak  with  urgent  tongue 
Authoritative,  whilst  th'  illumined  breast 
Heaves  with  unwonted  strength ;  high  as  their  theme 
Their'great  conceptions  rise  in  rapt'rous  flow, 
As  quick  the  ready  organs  catch  the  thought, 
And,  in  such  strains  as  science  could  not  teach, 
Bear  it,  in  all  its  radiance,  to  the  heart ; 
The  list'ning  throng  there  feel  its  blessed  effect, 
And  deep  conviction  glows  in  every  breast. 

See  ev'ry  crime  which  stains  the  human  mind 
At  their  strong  bidding  takes  its  rapid  flight: 
Delusion's  dreams  no  more  infect  the  soul, 
High-boasting  pride,  fierce  wrath,  impetuous  lust, 
And  avarice  swelling  with  hydropic  thirst, 
Fade,  like  unwholesome  dews  before  the  sun  : 
They  fade  to  rise  no  more ;  for  see,  a  band 


390  THE     GIFT     OF     TONGUES. 

Of  radiant  virtues  seize  their  late  abode, 

And  stamp  the  mansion  with  the  seal  of  truth. 

There  heavenly  Knowledge  shines  in  glittering  pride, 

And  Patience  sits,  with  meek  submissive  smile 

Disarming  stern  Oppression ;  Justice  there 

Erects  her  rigid  test  of  right  and  wrong ; 

And  there,  with  God's  own  armour  all-begirt, 

Stands  Fortitude,  erect  in  Christian  strength ; 

There  Temp'rance  stands  with  ever-watchful  eye, 

To  curb  the  passions  with  a  steady  rein ; 

And  Candor  there  her  golden  rule  displays, 

To  act  by  others  as  thy  heart  must  wish 

They,  in  like  circumstance,  should  act  by  thee : 

But  chiefly  there,  in  ever-fixed  seat, 

Sits  heav'n-born  chairity  ;  her  eagle  eye 

Thrown  o'er  the  wide  expanse  of  Nature's  works, 

Where,  nobly  scorning  ev'ry  meaner  tie, 

She  deems  all  human  ills  her  own,  and  sighs 

If  aught  of  mis'ry  dwell  beneath  the  sun. 

With  such  bright  guests  the  Christian  mind  is  stored, 

Pledges  of  truest  knowledge,  joy,  and  peace : 

These  to  make  known  became  the  sacred  task 

By  heav'n  imposed  upon  the  chosen  band ; 

Thrice  happy  they  to  such  high  office  called, 

The  blessed  ministers  of  God's  high  will ! 

For  them  the  fullness  of  his  might  is  shown, 

O'erleaping  the  strong  bounds  of  nature's  laws ; 

Grim  Death  for  them  contracts  his  hasty  stride, 

And  checks  his  dart  e'ven  in  the  act  to  strike ; 

His  horrid  messengers,  Disease  and  Pain, 


THE     GIFT     OF    TONGUES.  391 

Loose  their  remorseless  grasp  unwillingly, 

And  leave  their  prey  to  ease  and  thankfulness ; 

For  them  bright  Wisdom  opens  all  her  stores, 

Her  golden  treasures  spreading  to  their  view, 

Whilst  Inspiration's  all-enliv'ning  light 

Hangs  hov'ring  o'er  their  heads  in  glitt'ring  blaze  ; 

Warmed  by  the  ray  they  pour  the  sacred  strain 

In  eloquence  seraphic  ;  truths  divine, 

For  ever  registered  in  heav'n's  high  page, 

Flow  from  their  lips,  and  glow  within  their  breasts  ; 

Amazed  they  feel  the  sacred  ecstacy, 

With  heav'nly  rapture  thrill  in  ev'ry  nerve ; 

Whilst  in  their  flowing  words,  with  wisdom  fraught 

Celestial,  shines  the  heav'nly  Spirit  pure. 

This  is  no  fancied  power,  no  idle  dream, 

No  flatt'ring  scheme  by  heated  fancy  formed ; 

The^  genuine  influence  fills  each  raptured  soul, 

And  beams  in  ev'ry  eye  conspicuous. 

Far  other  flame  the  vain  enthusiast  feels, 
When,  reason  by  delusive  fancy  led 
In  sad  captivity,  the  thoughts  confused 
Rush  on  his  mind  in  dark  and  doubtful  sense. 
Consider  well,  what  are  the  genuine  marks 
Of  heavenly  inspiration.     It  was  not 
In  wild  ecstatic  rants  and  dubious  phrase, 
In  doctrines  intricate  and  terms  perplexed, 
The  simple  messengers  of  Jesus  spake. 
O  search  and  see,  were  not  their  docrines  pure, 
And  in  such  plain  and  modest  phrase  expressed 


392  THE     GIFT    OP    TONGUES. 

As  best  befits  instruction's  wholesome  plan  ? 
Mighty  to  save,  they  sought  no  other  pow'r, 
No  meed,  but  that  which  conscious  Virtue  feels 
When  she  conducts  some  hapless  wand'rer  back 
To  paths,  without  her  aid,  for  ever  lost. 
If  such  your  heav'nly  aim,  your  lives  unblamed 
"Will  give,  like  theirs,  an  earnest  of  your  truth ; 
If  daily  trained  to  ev'ry  virtuous  act, 
You  tread  the  steps  the  blessed  Jesus  trod, 
Through  the  strait  path,  the  way  of  holiness, 
Then  may  ye  lead  your  flocks  to  his  abode ; 
But,  0  beware !  think  not  the  heav'nly  guest 
Can  fix  his  residence  with  aught  impure ; 
Think  not  the  heart  which  pride  or  interest  guides 
Can  ever  be  the  seat  of  heavenly  grace  ; 
If  yet  the  Holy  Spirit  deigns  to  dwell 
In  earthly  domes,  'tis  not  in  those  denied 
With  pride,  with  fraud,  with  rapine,  or  with  lust ; 
'Midst  the  rough  foliage  of  the  thorny  brake 
The  clust'ring  grape  not  blushes,  and  the  fig 
Decks  not  the  prickly  thistle's  barren  stalk ; 
Ev'n  thus  shall  all  be  measured  by  their  fruits ; 
So  spake  the  living  Oracle  of  Truth : 
0  never,  never  lose  this  sacred  guide, 
By  every  blast  of  doctrine  borne  away, 
But  gazing  ever  on  the  Gospel  light, 
That  endless  source  of  evidence  and  truth, 
Prove  ev'ry  doctrine  by  that  golden  rule. 
And  "try  the  Spirits  if  they  be  of  God." 

Charles  Jenner. 


The  JSall  of  the  gentiles, 

To  the  Jew  first,  and  also  to  the  Gentile. — ROMANS  ii.  10. 

OH,  not  to  Israel's  haughty  sons  alone 
Came  the  glad  tidings  of  a  Saviour  born ; 
Not  so  repulsed  th'  Almighty's  outstretched  arm, 
Not  so  confined  His  love  !     The  dove-like  form 
Of  mercy,  issuing  forth,  through  every  clime, 
Flies  to  and  fro,  to  earth's  extremest  verge, 
Speeds  her  light  way,  and  plies  her  eager  search, 
Unwilling  to  return  if  chance  she  find 
Whereon  to  rest  her  foot !     Long  time  intent 
O'er  thee,  Judaea,  self-devoted  land ! 
With  many  an  anxious  pause  and  circling  flight 
The  mystic  wanderer  hung !     Full  oft  she  sought 
Thy  tow'rs,  Jerusalem,  thy  fated  walls, 
And  wept  o'er  all  the  scene !     Full  oft  she  called 
(E'en  as  a  hen  collects  her  callow  brood) 
And  yet  ye  would  not !  "  0  ungrateful  race !  " 
In  deep  despair  the  lovely  exile  cried ; 
Then  shook  soft  pity  from  her  .wings — and  fled.— 
Happy  the  few,  on  whose  selected  heads 
The  plenteous  dayspring  from  on  high  descended 
In  kindly  visitation !     Happy  they 


393 


394  THE     CALL     OF     THE     GENTILES. 

On  whom  that  show'r  of  heav'n-born  pity  fell ; 

— Nor  fell  unfruitful !     While  impassioned  hope, 

Firm  faith,  that  wisely  builds  on  reason's  rock, 

Strong-working,  drew  them  from  the  crooked  path ; 

Taught  them  at  length  with  steady  eye  to  bear 

The  growing  light ;  to  hail  with  grateful  joy 

Each  emanation  of  these  holy  truths 

That  Jesus  poured  upon  their  tempered  souls ! 

These,  not  unaided  by  supernal  grace : 

And  fraught  with  confidence  and  holy  zeal, 

Sure  test  of  true  conversion  !  these,  0  Lord, 

Were  all  Thy  scanty  followers ;  by  Thee 

First  called,  first  rescued  from  a  world  of  woe, 

To  spread  salvation  into  distant  climes ; 

And  tell  the  meanest  habitant  of  earth 

"  Glad  tidings  of  great  joy ! " — Much  envied  lot 

Of  ministry  like  this !     Thrice  happy  state 

Of  servitude,  (if  freedom's  choicest  name 

Befit  not  rather)  happier,  richer  far 

Than  all  that  tyranny  enthroned  could  boast, 

Or  the  proud  sceptre  of  imperial  Rome ! 

Conscious  I  quit  the  still-increasing  theme 

Of  praise  and  wonder  !     Mute  admiring  joy 

Must  paint  a  scene  the  muse  can  never  reach ! 

'Tis  not  for  us,  unweeting  babblers  all, 

To  trace  with  fit  designs  the  holy  group 

Forth  issuing,  for  the  glorious  work  prepared, 

Their  cry  Salvation  ! — God  himself  their  guide ! 

For  us  suffice  it  rather,  first  to  haste 

In  silent  joy,  like  Abraham  from  his  tent, 


THE     CALL     OF    THE    GENTILES. 

And  welcome  their  approach  ;— then  quick  retire, 

Like  Lot  from  Sodom,  anxious  to  be  saved, 

Thankful  to  hear,  and  happy  to  obey  !— 

'Tis  not  for  us,  to  watch  with  prying  eye 

The  secret  workings  of  Almighty  Power ; 

To  tell  how  heav'n's  diffusive  love  prevailed 

With  gradual  effort  o'er  the  conscious  soul ! 

Or  struck,  invisibly,  with  sudden  ray 

Of  purest  knowledge  and  regenerate  joy, 

Th'  unconscious  Heathen  ;  'till  at  once  aroused, 

His  ev'ry  sense  and  ev'ry  glowing  thought 

Start  from  its  lethargy,  and  spring  to  life  ; 

Suffice  it,  that  we  know  the  mighty  cause 

And  breathe  unceasing  songs  of  gratitude 

To  him,  whose  blessings  far  and  wide  displayed 

The  rich  effusion,  till  one  vast  embrace 

Encircles  all  creation  !— Gracious  Heaven  . 

O  not  in  vain  be  these  thy  mercies  shown 

To  any  child  of  man !     Remember,  Lord, 

And  save  the  creature  of  Thy  plastic  hand, 

Whether  Thou  view'st  him  wandering  on  the  waste 

Of  Polar  Zembla,  continent  of  ice  ! 

Or  breathing  rude  idolatry  and  vows 

Of  prostrate  adoration  at  the  shrine 

Of  Thibet's  hapless  Lama  !     Wretched  being, 

Less  free,  less  happy,  less  a  God  than  e'en 

His  vilest  votary !— Yet  not  alone 

To  the  swart  savage  of  the  barb'rous  East 

The  beaded  Hottentot,  or  naked  slave 

Who  toils,  untutored,  in  the  guilty  mine, 


395 


396         THE  CALL  OF  THE  GENTILES. 

Reveal  thy  saving  arm !     But  turn,  0  turn 

The  blinder  Infidel,  of  every  name, 

Or  gross  Mahometan,  or  stubborn  Jew, 

Or  desperate  Atheist,  who  mocks  thy  pow'rs 

With  purposed  insult ! — Turn  them,  Lord,  and  save 

And  win  them  to  Thyself !     O  quickly  bring 

To  Sharon's  fold  arid  Achor's  happy  vale 

Thy  full  united  flock ! — And  if  the  muse, 

Impatient  for  thy  glory,  still  may  breathe 

One  added  prayer,  0  bless  the  pious  zeal, 

And  crown  with  glad  success  the  laboring  sons 

Of  that  best  charity,  whose  annual  mite 

Sends  forth  thy  gospel  to  the  distant  Isles ! 

So  shall  the  nations,  rescued  myriads !  hear, 

And  own  Thy  mercy  over  all  Thy  works  ! 

So  from  each  corner  of  th'  enligliten'd  earth 

Incessant  peals  of  universal  joy, 

Shall  hail  Thee,  Heavenly  Father,  God  of  All ! 

Spencer  Madan. 


METHINKS  it  is  good  to  be  here, 

If  thou  wilt  let  us  build,— but  for  whom  ? 

Nor  Elias  nor  Moses  appear  ; 

But  the  shadows  of  eve  that  encompass  the  gloom, 
The  abode  of  the  dead,  and  the  place  of  the  tomb. 

Shall  we  build  to  Ambition  ?     Ah,  no: 
Affrighted,  he  shrinketh  away  ; 

For,  see,  they  would  pin  him  below 

To  a  small  narrow  cave ;  and  begirt  with  cold  clay, 
To  the  meanest  of  reptiles  a  peer  and  a  prey. 

To  Beauty  ?     Ah  no  :  she  forgets 
The  charms  that  she  wielded  before  ; 

Nor  knows  the  foul  worm  that  he  frets, 

The  skin  which  but  yesterday  fools  could  adore, 
For  the  smoothness  it  held  or  the  tint  which  it  wore. 

Shall  we  build  to  the  purple  of  pride, 

The  trappings  which  dizen  the  proud  ?  t 

Alas !  they  are  all  laid  aside, 

And  here's  neither  dress  nor  adornment  allowed, 

But  the  long  winding  sheet  and  the  fringe  of  the  shroud. 

397 


.398  THE     THREE     TABERNACLES. 

To  riches  ?     Alas  !  'tis  in  vain : 

Who  hid,  in  their  turns  have  been  hid  ; 

The  treasures  are  squandered  again ; 

And  here  in  the  grave  are  all  metals  forbid, 
But  the  tinsel  that  shone  on  the  dark  coffin-lid. 

To  the  pleasures  which  Mirth  can  afford, 
The  revel,  the  laugh  and  the  jeer  ? 

Ah  !  here  is  a  plentiful  hoard, 
But  the  guests  are  all  mute  as  their  pitiful  cheer, 
And  none  but  the  worm  is  a  reveler  here. 

< 
Shall  we  build  to  Affection  and  Love ! 

Ah  !  no  :  they  have  withered  and  died, 
Or  fled  with  the  spirit  above. 

Friends,  brothers  and  sisters  are  laid  side  by  side, 
Yet  none  have  saluted,  and  none  have  replied. 

Unto  Sorrow  ?     The  dead  can  not  grieve  ; 

Nor  a  sob  nor  a  sigh  meets  mine  ear, 
Which  compassion  itself  could  relieve  : 

Ah  !  sweetly  they  slumber,  nor  hope,  love  or  fear  ; 

Peace,  peace  is  the  watchword — the  only  one  here. 

Unto  Death,  to  whom  monarchs  must  bow  ? 
Ah  !  no  :  for  his  empire  is  known, 

And  here  there  are  trophies  enow ; 

Beneath  the  cold  dead,  and  around  the  dark  stone 
Are  the  signs  of  a  sceptre  that  none  may  disown. 


THE     THREE     TABERNACLES. 

The  first  tabernacle  to  Hope  we  will  build, 
And  look  to  the  sleepers  around  us  to  rise  ; 

The  second  to  Faith,  which  ensures  it  fulfilled ; 
And  the  third  to  the  Lamb  of  the  Great  Sacrifice, 
Who  bequeathed  us  them  both  when  He  rose  to  tile  skies, 

Herbert  Snowies. 


The  Lame 


Then  Peter  said,  "  Silver  and  gold  have  I  none ;  but  such  as  I  have  I  give  thee 
In  the  name  of  Jesus  Christ  of  Nazareth,  rise  up  and  walk. — ACTS  iii.  6. 


FORTH  at  the  hour  of  prayer, 
Went  the  Apostles  to  the  holy  place 
The  sacred  temple  of  the  living  God, 
Where  praise  was  offered,  and  his  creatures  bowed 
In  humble  adoration  at  his  throne, 
Asking  remission  of  their  sins,  and  grace 
And  strength  to  guide  their  timid,  wavering  steps 
In  the  true  way  of  life. 

Onward  they  passed, 

With  hearts  o'erflowing  with  a  fervent  zeal 
To  do  their  Master's  service.     In  their  path, 
Near  by  the  temple's  gate,  lay  one,  who  had, 
From  the  first  era  of  existence,  borne 
Suffering  and  sore  affliction.     Life,  to  him, 
Was  as  a  cheerless  waste,  for  he  had  known 
No  springtime  of  enjoyment,  when  gay  youth 

400 


THE     LAME     MAN     HEALED.  401 

Could  speed,  exulting,  on  the  ardent  race, 

Or  spend  the  sunny  hours  in  sportive  glee. 

All  the  heart's  impulses  were  crushed  and  chilled— 

For,  though  the  eye  might  mark  the  beautiful, 

And  the  soul  pine  for  freedom,  or  aspire 

To  high  and  lofty  things,  the  maimed  limbs. 

And  marred  and  wretched  frame,  like  prison-gates, 

Held  him  a  mourning  captive,  until  all 

Of  life  within — e'en  hope  itself — had  died — 

And  there  was  left  nor  tint  upon  his  cheek, 

Nor  luster  in  his  eye. 

There  he  reclined, 

Where  pitying  hands  had  borne,  as  they  were  wont, 
The  feeble,  helpless  mendicant. — And  as 
Th'  Apostles  passed  his  cheerless  resting-place, 
His  trembling  voice  was  raised,  imploring  alms. 

They  stay'd  their  footsteps.     Was  there  e'er  a  time 
When  the  sad  wail  of  sorrow  failed  to  reach 
His  ear,  whose  faithful  followers  they  were  ? 
His  was  compassion,  boundless,  infinite — 
Nor  creed,  nor  sect,  nor  station,  could  impede 
The  welling  up  of  sacred  sympathy 
Within  His  bosom ! 

Like  their  blessed  Lord, 
They  felt  their  holy  impulse,  and  their  hearts 
Were  touched  with  pity  as  they  stopped  and  turned 
Their  steadfast  eyes  upon  the  suffering  man. 

26 


402  THE     LAME     MAN     HEALED. 

Then  Peter  said,  "Look  on  us!" — and  lie  looked, 

With  expectation  kindling  in  his  glance 

And  thankfulness  awakened  in  his  heart ; 

For,  from  the  hand  outstretched,  with  open  palm, 

The  alms  he  craved,  he  thought,  would  surely  come. 

Once  more  th'  Apostle  spoke  : — "  Silver  and  gold 
Belong  not  to  me,  nor  can  Ibestow 
These,  but  the  gifts  I  have  I  freely  give — 
In  the  blessed  name  of  Christ  of  Nazareth, 
Ibid  thee  rise  and  ivalk  /"     And  lifting  him 
Upon  his  feet,  he  stood  in  manhood's  strength, 
No  longer  impotent. 

Then  went  he  forth, 

And  entered  with  them  in  the  temple  gate, 
Walking,  and  leaping,  and  adoring  God, 
Who  sent  his  faithful  ministers,  to  raise 
Him  from  the  lowest  depths  of  misery, 
And  fill  his  heart  with  joy. 


So,  Christian  soul, 

Though  darkly  round  thec  lower  the  tempest  cloud, 
Veiling  the  brightness  of  thy  spirit's  joy, 
And  filling  thee  with  trembling  and  with  fear : 
Though  pain  and  anguish  rack  thee,  and  the  weak 
And  stricken  body  sink  beneath  the  load 
Of  Speechless  agony,  and  prostrate  lie 
In  helpless  wretchedness  : — Remember,  still, 


THE    LAME    MAN    HEALED.  403 

That  there  is  One  above  whose  watchful  eye 
Notes  all  thy  sufferings,  and  marks  thy  fears — 
Who  tries  and  proves  thy  faith,  that  thou  may'st  be 
Made  meet  partaker  of  the  bliss  that  waits 
Believers,  in  the  bright,  celestial  home, 
Prepared  for  those  who  put  their  trust  in  Him. 

iSamuel  D.  Patterson. 


And  they  called  them,  and  commanded  them  not  to  speak  at  all  nor  to  teach  in 
the  name  of  Jesus.  But  Peter  and  John  answered  and  said  unto  them,  Whether 
it  be  right  in  the  s'ght  of  God  to  hearken  unto  you  more  than  unto  God,  judge 
ye.— ACTS  iv.  18,  19. 


AWAKE,  ye  sons  of  men !     The  hallowed  word 

Contemplate,  stamped  with  truth's  immortal  seal ! 
Mark,  where  the  faithful  servants  of  their  Lord, 

Through  the  wide  world  Heaven's  high  behests  reveal ! — 
Calamities  from  every  quarter  press  ; 

Ten  thousand  perils  darken  all  the  view ; 
Contempt,  indignant  hatred,  sore  distress, 

And  friendless  indigence  their  steps  pursue. 
Stern  persecution's  arm,  by  pow'r  maintained, 
The  ruthless  sword  uplifts,  with  martyrs'  blood  distained. 


Firm  amidst  legions  of  surrounding  foes, 

With  unremitted  zeal,  they  hold  their  course : 

Undaunted  'midst  oppression's  varied  woes, 
Defy  authority's  vindictive  force. 

404 


CHRISTIAN     OBEDIENCE.  405 

In  vain  the  furious  bigot  threats ;  in  vain 

The  sophist  weaves  the  net  of  subtle  art : 
The  tyrant,  'midst  his  adulating  train, 

Feels  terror  shake  his  agonizing  heart ; 
E'en  on  his  throne  he  trembles ;  guilt  and  shame 
Fix  deep  their  barbed  shafts,  and  rend  his  coward  frame. 


Behold  the  path  which  leads  to  endless  life  ! 

In  this  the  martyr  trod,  all  power  withstood ; 
Braved  every  danger  in  the  mortal  strife, 

And  ratified  his  faith  with  sacred  blood. — 
At  length,  oppression's  sanguinary  hand 

No  more  o'er  Christians  holds  vindictive  sway ; 
No  more  the  ruthless  tyrant's  fell  command 

Consigns  to  death  his  unresisting  prey. 
Yet  e'en  to  us,  from  all  these  terrors  freed, 

the  same  hope  is  giv'n,  the  same  reward  decreed. 


The  world  in  all  its  boasted  grandeur  proud, 

In  all  its  stores  of  dazzling  splendor  bright, 
Is  but  a  transient,  unsubstantial  cloud, 

Which  the  sun  skirts  with  momentary  light : 
"Anon,  th'  assailing  winds  impetuous  rise, 

Black  low'rs  the  tempest  in  the  sullen  sky ; 
Before  the  driving  blast  the  vision  dies, 

And  all  the  vivid  tints  of  splendor  fly : 
Pass  but  a  moment,  ev'ry  ray  is  gone  ; 
Nor  e'en  a  vestige  left,  where  the  bright  glories  shone, 


406  CHRISTIAN    OBEDIENCE. 

And  shall  we,  for  this  visionary  gleam, 

Dengen'rate  swerve  from  Heav'n's  immortal  plan  ? 
Give  up,  for  vanity's  light  airy  dream, 

The  nobler  heritage  reserved  for  man  ? 
Though  rocks  their  cragged  heads  in  ambush  hide, 

Though  storms  and  tempests  sweep  the  angry  main ; 
While  Hope's  fair  star  shines  forth,  auspicious  guide, 

E'en  tempests,  storms,  and  rocks,  oppose  in  vain. 
Safe,  'midst  the  ocean's  iterated  force, 
The  sacred  vessel  shapes  her  Heav'n-directed  course. 

Samuel  Hayes. 


Bsatt*  txf 


But  he  being  full  of  the  Holy  Ghost,  looked  up  steadfastly  into  heaven,  and  saw 
the  glory  of  God,  and  Jesus  standing  on  the  right  hand  of  God.-AcTS  vn.  5o 

WITH  awful  dread  his  murderers  shook, 

As,  radiant  and  serene, 
The  lustre  of  his  dying  look 

Was  like  an  angel's  seen  ; 
Or  Moses'  face  of  paly  light, 

When  down  the  mount  he  trod, 
All  glowing  from  the  glorious  sight 

And  presence  of  his  God. 

To  us,  with  all  his  constancy, 

Be  his  rapt  vision  given, 
To  look  above  by  faith,  and  see 

Revealments  bright  of  heaven  ; 
And  power  to  speak  our  triumphs  out, 

As  our  last  hour  draws  near, 
While  neither  clouds  of  fear  nor  doubt 

Before  our  view  appear. 

'William  CrosivelL 


407 


The 


URGED,  Lord,  by  sinful  terror, 

Peter  denied  thy  name  ; 
Soon,  conscious  of  his  error, 

He  mourned  his  guilt  with  shame  : 
Thy  look  with  sorrow  filled  his  breast, 

He  sought  thy  pard'ing  mercy, 
And  was  with  pardon  blessed. 

After,  how  grew  this  martyr 

In  faith  and  hardihood  ! 
He  scorned  thy  truth  to  barter, 

But  sealed  it  with  his  blood  : 
For  thee,  his  Lord,  he  spent  his  breath, 

In  life  declared  thy  glory, 
And  honored  thee  in  death. 


B.  Muenta. 


408 


St* 


THOU  hast  the  art  on't,  Peter,  and  canst  tell 

To  cast  thy  net  on  all  occasions  well. 

When  Christ  calls  and  thy  nets  would  have  thce  stay, 

To  cast  them  well's  to  cast  them  quite  away. 


Well,  Peter,  dost  thou  wield  thy  active  sword, 
Well  for  thyself,  I  mean,  not  for  thy  Lord. 
To  strike  at  ears  is  to  take  heed  there  be 
No  witness,  Peter,  of  thy  perjury. 


Under  thy  shadow  may  I  lurk  awhile, 
Death's  busy  search  I'll  easily  beguile  : 
Thy  shadow,  Peter,  must  show  me  the  sun, 
My  light's  thy  shadow's  shadow,  or  His  done. 

Richard  Orashaw. 


409 


t, 


WHOSE  is  that  sword  —  that  voice  and  eye  of  flame, 

That  heart  of  uiiextiiigirishable  ire  ? 

Who  bears  the  dungeon  keys  ;  and  bonds  and  fire  ? 

Along  his  dark  and  withering  path  he  came  — 

Death  in  his  looks,  and  terror  in  his  name,  * 

Tempting  the  might  of  Heaven's  Eternal  Sire. 

Lo  !  the  light  shone  !  the  sun's  veiled  beams  expire  — 

A  Saviour's  self  a  Saviour's  lips  proclaim  ! 

Whose  is  yon  form  stretched  on  the  earth's  cold  bed, 

With  smitten  soul,  and  tears  of  agony 

Mourning  the  past  ?     Bowed  is  the  lofty  hea<J  — 

Ray  less  the  orbs  that  flushed  with  victory. 

Over  the  raging  waves  of  human  will, 

The  Saviour's  spirit  walked,  and  all  was  still. 

Roscoe. 


410 


And  he  fell  to  the  earth,  and  heard  a  voice  saying  unto  him  "  Saul,  Saui,  why 
persecutest  thou  me  1 " — ACTS  ix.  4. 

THE  midday  sun  with  fiercest  glare, 
Broods  o'er  the  hazy,  twinkling  air  ; 

Along  the  level  sand 
The  palm  tree's  shade  unwavering  lies, 
Just  as  thy  towers,  Damascus,  rise, 

To  greet  yon  wearied  band. 

The  leader  of  that  martial  crew 
Seems  bent  some  mighty  deed  to  do, 

So  steadily  he  speeds, 
With  lips  firm  closed  and  fixed  eye, 
Like  warrior  when  the  fight  is  nigh, 

Nor  talk  nor  landscape  heeds. 

What  sudden  blaze  is  round  him  poured, 
As  though  all  heaven's  refulgent  hoard 

In  one  rich  glory  shone  ? 
One  moment — and  to  earth  he  falls  ; 
What  voice  his  inmost  heart  appals  ? 

Voice  heard  by  him  alone. 

411 


412  THE     CONVERSION     OF     ST.     PAUL. 

For  to  the  rest  both  words  and  form 
Seem  lost  in  lightning  and  in  storm, 

While  Saul,  in  wakeful  trance, 
Sees  deep  within  that  dazzling  field 
His  persecuted  Lord  revealed, 

With  keen  yet  pitying  glance. 

And  hears  the  meek  upbraiding  call 
And  gently  on  his  spirit  fall, 

As  if  th'  Almighty  Son 
Were  prisoner  yet  in  this  dark  earth, 
Nor  had  proclaimed  his  royal  birth, 

Nor  his  great  power  begun. 

"  Ah  !  wherefore  persecut'st  thou  me  ? " 
He  heard  and  saw,  and  sought  to  free 

His  strained  eye  from  the  sight ; 
But  Heaven's  high  magic  bound  it  there, 
Still  gazing,  though  untaught  to  bear 

Th'  insufferable  light. 

"  Who  art  thou,  Lord  ?  "  he  falters  forth : 
So  shall  sin  ask  of  heaven  and  earth 

At  the  last  awful  day, 
"  When  did  we  see  thee  suffering  nigh, 
And  passed  thee  with  unheeding  eye  ? 

Great  God  of  judgment,  say  ? "     . 

Ah  !  little  dream  our  listless  eyes 
What  glorious  presence  they  despise, 
While  in  our  noon  of  life, 


THE    CONVERSION    OP    ST.     PAUL.  413 

To  power  or  fame  we  rudely  press, 
Christ  is  at  hand  to  scorn  or  bless, — 
Christ  suffers  in  our  strife. 

And  though  heaven's  gates  long  since  have  closed, 
And  our  dear  Lord  in  bliss  reposed 

High  above  mortal  ken, 
To  every  ear  in  every  land 
(Though  meek  ears  only  understand) 

He  speaks  as  He  did  then. 

"  Ah  !  wherefore  persecute  ye  me  ? " 
'Tis  hard,  ye  so  in  love  should  be 

With  your  own  endless  woe. 
Know,  though  at  God's  right  hand  I  live, 
I  feel  each  wound  ye  reckless  give 

To  the  least  saint  below. 

"  I  in  your  care  my  brethren  left, 
Not  willing  ye  should  be  bereft 

Of  waiting  on  your  Lord. 
The  meanest  offering  ye  can  make — 
A  drop  of  water — for  love's  sake, 

In  heaven,  be  sure  is  stored." 

Oh  !  by  those  gentle  tones  and  dear, 
When  Thou  hast  stayed  our  wild  career, 

Thou  only  hope  of  souls, 
Ne'er  let  us  cast  one  look  behind, 
But  in  the  thought  of  Jesus  find 

What  every  thought  controls. 


414  THE    CONVERSION    OF    ST.     PAUL. 

As  to  thy  last  Apostle's  heart, 

Thy  lightning  glance  did  then  impart 

ZeaPs  never-dying  fire, 
So  teach  us  on  thy  shrine  to  lay 
Our  hearts,  and  let  them  day  by  day 

Intenser  blaze  and  higher. 

And  as  each  mild  and  winning  note 
(Like  pulses  that  round  harp-strings  float, 

When  the  full  strain  is  o'er) 
Left  lingering  on  his  inward  ear 
Music,  that  taught,  as  death  drew  near, 

Love's  lesson  more  and  more ; 

So,  as  we  walk  our  earthly  round, 
Still  may  the  echo  of  that  sound 

Be  in  our  memory  stored ; 
Christians,  behold  your  happy  state  ; 
Christ  is  in  these  who  round  you  wait ; 

Make  much  of  your  dear  Lord  ! " 

John  Keble. 


The  IreasMn:  xxf  St 


But  all  that  heard  him  were  amazed,  and  said,  "  Is  not  this  he  that  destroyed 
them  which  called  on  this  name  in  Jerusalem  ?  "  —  ACTS  ix.  21. 

EACH  holy  rite  performed,  the  zealous  saint 
Poured  from  his  tongue  spontaneous  the  stream 
Of  eloquence  and  inspiration.     Lo  ! 
The  gazing  synagogue,  in  wonder  rapt, 
Devour  his  pregnant  speech.     Th'  instructive  sage, 
With  symple  style,  deliberate  address, 
And  nervous  arguments,  now  vindicates 
The  great  Messiah.     Now  with  words  that  live, 
With  thoughts  that  burn,  the  last  tremendous  day, 
Expiring  nature  and  the  doom  of  man, 
He  thunders  on  the  soul.     Sin's  ghastly  front, 
Her  shape  deformed,  the  poison  of  her  touch, 
Behind  her  Vengeance  with  eternal  fire, 
He  next  describes.     Affrighted  conscience  'wakes  ; 
The  murd'rer  starts  aghast  !  th'  oppressor  groans  ; 
Th'  adulterer  trembles,  and  the  harlot  weeps. 
What  heart  so  pure,  so  innocent  of  vice, 
But  shuddered  there  !  —  Now  with  mellifluous  tongue 
He  soothes  the  scorpion  sting  of  conscious  guilt. 
Behold  !  each  faded  countenance  relumed 

415 


416  THE     PREACHING    OF     ST.     PAUL. 

With  hope  and  gladness,  whilst  the  chosen  saint 
Unfolds  the  niyst'ries  of  redeeming  love, 
Of  grace  and  mercy  infinite,  displays 
The  high  rewards  of  penitence  and  life 
Reformed,  the  freedom  of  the  Christian  yoke 
Avers,  and  testifies  th'  eternal  league 
'Twixt  happiness  and  virtue.     Now  to  crown 
The  preacher's  task,  with  sweet  persuasive  phrase 
He  wins  th'  enchanted  audience  to  peace, 
Long-suff'ring,  gentleness,  and  social  love, 
The  godlike  spirit  of  his  Master's  laws. 

Was  this  the  hot  vindictive  Pharisee  ? 
0  strange  conversion  !     This  th'  impetuous  Saul 
That  late  dire  menaces  and  slaughter  breathed  ? 
Was  this,  sage  priest,  the  minister  of  wrath 
Fixed  by  the  dreaded  sanction  of  thy  power 
To  hurl  perdition  on  the  rising  church  ? 
What !     Were  those  hands,  now  lifted  up  to  Heav'n 
To  bless  man's  great  Redeemer,  once  imbrued 
In  the  pure  blood  of  his  devoted  saints, 
And  consecrated  martyrs  !     Wondrous  change  ! 
But  what  can  check  that  All-controlling  Power, 
Who  turns  the  course  of  Nature  at  His  will ; 
Whose  word  was  med'cine  to  the  sick,  whose  call 
Awoke  the  grave's  cold  tenants,  whose  firm  step 
Trod  the  soft  surface  of  the  ocean,  whilst 
His  potent  voice  bade  the  curled  waves  subside, 
And  hushed  the  wind's  wild  uproar  into  peace  ? 


THE     PREACHING     OP     ST.     PAUL.  417 

Behold  !  th'  illustrious  convert  now  invades 
The  reign  of  Gentile  darkness.     See !  appalled 
Black  Superstition,  with  her  baleful  throng 
Of  self-bred  fears,  and  unembodied  forms 
That  haunt  despair  ;  the  foul  unholy  train 
Of  molten  idols  and  fantastic  gods, 
Shrink  at  his  presence,  like  the  fleeting  shades 
Of  sullen  night,  when  first  Hyperion's  orb 
Scatters  its  purple  radiance  o'er  the  skies. 
Nor  long  the  majesty  of  Jove  supreme 
Withstood  the  thunders  of  the  preacher's  tongue. 
Tottered  his  throne,  his  golden  sceptre  fell ; 
Nor  more  Olympus  trembled  at  his  nod. 
No  longer  smoked  his  odoriferous  shrines 
With  frankincense  and  myrrh,  the  fragrant  breath 
Of  Araby  ;  nor  bleeding  hecatomb 
Distained  his  blushing  altars.     Solemn  praise 
And  pray'rs  devoutly  breathed,  the  tears,  the  sighs 
Of  penitential  grief,  the  broken  heart, 
Now  formed  the  Gentile's  purer  sacrifice 
To  the  true  God.     Each  attribute 
That  points  th'  Almigh.ty  Parent  of  the  world 
To  man's  conceptions,  legibly  portrayed 
On  Nature's  page,  th'  enlightened  convert  sees  ; 
And  as  he  views,  his  elevated  breast, 
With  inextinguishable  ardor,  burns 
For  truth,  for  life  and  immortality. 
Where'er  the  preacher  rolled  the  powerful  tide 
Of  inspiration,  from  each  fabled  haunt 
Foul  error  fled,  whether  the  Roman  school, 
27 


418  THE     PREACHING     OF     ST.     PAUL. 

Or  Attic  portico  her  presence  held  , 

Or  the  dark  inmate  of  the  pagan  shrine, 

She  heaped  vain  incense  to  some  idol-god. 

0 !  may  those  living  oracles  of  light, 
That  boast  the  sanction  of  thy  hallowed  pen, 
Illustrious  convert !  o'er  each  gloomy  land, 
Where  still  pale  fear  and  superstition  reign, 
Spread  the  rich  treasures  of  immortal  truth ! 
May  the  false  prophet's  sensual  paradise, 
Base  hopes  of  ignorance  and  lust, 
Allure  no  more  the  pilgrim's  weary  step 
To  Mecca's  walls  ;  no  longer  Fohi's  name 
Usurp  the  prostrate  adoration,  due 
To  God  alone  :  nor  more  th'  unconscious  sun 
Provoke  the  trembling  Indian's  fruitless  vow  : 
But  may  one  mind,  one  faith,  one  hope,  one  God 

Unite  the  scattered  progeny  of  man  ! 

* 
John  Lettice. 


The  &as,ei  Triad, 


And  now  abideth  faith,  hope,  charity ;  but  the  greatest  of  these  is  charity. 
COR.  xiii.  13. 


Is  it  some  sport  of  Fancy's  silver  light, 
That  darts  along  the  shades  of  scattered  night  ? 
Or  gleams  from  spot  to  spot  on  mortal  ground, 
The  mystic  web  through  time  and  nature  wound  ? 

Three  holy  graces  came  from  heaven  to  man, 
Three  great  apostles  led  their  peaceful  van, 
Three  lengthened  ages,  blending  each  with  each, 
From  truth's  first  blaze,  to  earth's  last  glory  reach  : 
And  each  apostle  wears  one  holy  grace, 
And  each  long  age  is  one  apostle's  trace. 
The  age  of  Faith,  it  leaned  on  Peter's  name, 
And  stood  a  rock  'mid  seas  of  mounting  flame : 
Its  youthful  strength  the  assailant's  fury  broke, 
And  error  crouched  beneath  its  scourging  stroke. 
It  held  the  cross  with  zeal's  impetuous  hand, 
And  touched,  and  blessed,  and  swayed  each  savage  land ; 
Chose  for  itself  the  lonely  cell  and  cave, 
But  reared  for  heaven  the  minster's  glorious  nave : 
The  age  of  Hope,  it  heard  the  conqueror's  call, 
And  girt  the  shield,  and  grasped  the  sword  of  Saul ; 

419 


420  THE     GOSPEL     TRIAD. 

It  strove  for  truth,  and  truth  in  strife  it  won, 
Strong  in  the  word,  the  immortal  cause  went  on 
Foiled  and  still  foiled,  the  hostile  armies  swell, 
Long  is  the  work,  yet  toil  the  champions  well ; 
Ranged  for*  the  last,  the  fierce  opposer  stands, 
And  doubt  and  discord  tear  the  faithful  bands, 
A  hundred  winds  their  hundred  banners  blow, 
Yet  beams  on  each  defiance  to  the  foe  ; 
From  victory  rings  their  clarion's  mingling  tone, 
We  hear  their  peal,  but  hear  in  hope  alone. 
The  age  of  Love, — 0,  who  its  light  shall  see  ? 
Beloved  apostle !  tells  it  not  of  thee  ? 
The  strife  is  o'er,  the  day  of  triumph  nigh ; 
In  palmy  groves  the  shields  are  hung  on  high : 
For  every  band  its  destined  place  is  there, 
And  every  brow  its  worthy  wreath  must  wear ; 
A  blooming  garden  rises  o'er  the  waste, 
Amid  its  walks  they  rove,  and  till,  and  taste ; 
The  playful  lyre  in  tuneful  numbers  sweep, 
Or  speak,  or  sing,  of  wisdom  high  and  deep, 
Then  sit  them  down  and  watch  the  fading  ray ; 
Their  eve  is  morn,  their  morn  an  endless  day. 

George  Burgess. 


Pure  religion  and  undefiled  before  God  and  the  Father,  is  this,  To  visit  the 
fatherless  and  the  widows  in  their  affliction,  and  to  keep  himself  unspotted  from 
the  world. — ST.  JAMES  i.  27. 

WOULDST  thou  from  sorrow  find  a  sweet  relief  ? 
Or  is  thy  heart  oppressed  with  woes  untold  ? 
Balm  wouldst  thou  gather  for  corroding  grief  ? 
Pour  blessings  round  thee  like  a  shower  of  gold.-— 
'Tis  when  the  rose  is  wrapt  in  many  a  fold 
Close  to  its  heart,  the  worm  is  wasting  there 
Its  life  and  beauty  ;  not  when,  all  unrolled, 
Leaf  after  leaf,  its  bosom,  rich  and  fair, 
Breathes  freely  its  perfumes  throughout  the  ambient  air. 

Wake,  thou  that  sleepest  in  enchanted  bowers, 
Lest  these  lost  years  should  haunt  thee  on  the  night 
When  death  is  waiting  for  thy  numbered  hours 
To  take  their  swif ';  and  everlasting  flight ; 
Wake,  ere  the  earth-born  charm  unnerve  thee  quite, 
And  be  thy  thoughts  to  work  divine  addressed ; 
Do  something — do  it  soon — with  all  thy  might ; 
An  angel's  wing  would  droop  if  long  at  rest, 
And  God  himself,  inactive,  were  no  longer  blest. 

421 


422  PURE     RELIGION. 

Some  high  or  humble  enterprise  of  good 
Contemplate,  till  it  shall  possess  thy  mind, 
Become  thy  study,  pastime,  rest,  and  food, 
And  kindle  in  thy  heart  a  flame  refined. 
Pray  Heaven  for  firmness  thy  whole  soul  to  bind 
To  this  thy  purpose — to  begin,  pursue, 
With  thoughts  all  fixed,  and  feelings  purely  kind ; 
Strength  to  complete,  and  with  delight  review, 
And  grace  to  give  the  praise  where  all  is  ever  due. 

No  good  of  worth  sublime  will  Heaven  permit 
To  light  on  man  as  from  the  passing  air ; 
The  lamp  of  genius,  though  by  nature  lit, 
If  not  protected,  pruned,  and  fed  with  care, 
Soon  dies,  or  runs  to  waste  with  fitful  glare  : 
And  learning  is  a  plant  that  spreads  and  towers 
Slow  as  Columbia's  aloe,  proudly  rare, 
That,  'mid  gay  thousands,  with  the  suns  and  showers 
Of  half  a  century,  grows  alone  before  it  flowers. 

Has  immortality  of  name  been  given 
To  them  that  idly  worship  hills  and  groves, 
And  burn  sweet  incense  to  the  queen  of  heaven  ? 
Did  Newton  learn  from  fancy,  as  it  roves, 
To  measure  worlds,  and  follow  where  each  moves  ? 
Did  Howard  gain  renown  that  shall  not  cease, 
By  wanderings  wild  that  nature's  pilgrim  loves  ? 
Or  did  Paul  gain  heaven's  glory  and  its  peace, 
By  musing  o'er  the  bright  and  tranquil  isles  of  Greece  ? 


PURE     RELIGION.  423 

Beware  lest  thou,  from  sloth,  that  would  appear 
But  lowliness  of  mind,  with  joy  proclaim 
Thy  want  of  worth  ;  a  charge  thou  couldst  not  hear 
From  other  lips,  without  a  blush  of  shame, 
Or  pride  indignant ;  then  be  thine  the  blame, 
And  make  thyself  of  worth ;  and  thus  enlist 
The  smiles  of  all  the  good,  the  dear  to  fame ; 
'Tis  infamy  to  die  and  not  be  missed, 
Or  let  all  soon  forget  that  thou  didst  e'er  exist. 

Rouse  to  some  work  of  high  and  holy  love, 
And  thou  an  angel's  happiness  shalt  know, 
Shalt  bless  the  earth  while  in  the  world  above ; 
The  good  begun  by  thee  shall  onward  flow 
In  many  a  branching  stream,  and  wider  grow ; 
The  -seed  that,  in  these  few  and  fleeting  hours, 
Thy  hands  unsparing  and  unwearied  sow, 
Shall  deck  thy  grave  with  amaranthine  flowers, 
And  yield  thee  fruits  divine  in  heaven's  immortal  bowers. 

Carlos   Wilcox. 


St* 


And,  behold,  the  angel  of  the  Lord  came  upon  him  and  a  light  shined  in  the 
prison :  and  he  smote  Peter  on  the  side,  and  raised  him  up,  saying,  "  Arise  up 
quickly." — ACTS  xii.  6-8. 

THOU  thrice  denied,  yet  thrice  beloved, 
Watch  by  thine  own  forgiven  friend ; 

In  sharpest  perils  faithful  proved, 
Let  his  soul  love  thee  to  the  end. 


The  prayer  is  heard — else  why  so  deep 

His  slumber  on  the  eve  of  death  ? 
And  wherefore  smiles  he  in  his  sleep 

As  one  who  drew  celestial  breath  ? 

He  loves  and  is  beloved  again — 

Can  his  soul  choose  but  be  at  rest  ? 
Sorrow  hath  fled  away,  and  pain 

Dares  not  invade  the  guarded  nest. 

He  dearly  loves,  and  not  alone  : 

For  his  winged  thoughts  are  soaring  high 
Where  never  yet  frail  heart  was  known 

To  breathe  in  vain  affection's  sigh. 

424 


ST.   PETER'S   RELEASE.  425 

He  loves  and  weeps — but  more  than  tears 
Have  sealed  thy  welcome  and  his  love — 

One  look  lives  in  him,  and  endears 
Crosses  and  wrongs  where'er  he  rove : 

That  gracious  chiding  look,  Thy  call, 

To  win  him  to  himself  and  Thee, 
Sweetening  the  sorrow  of  his  fall, 

Which  else  were  rued  too  bitterly. 

Even  through  the  veil  of  sleep  it  shines, 
The  memory  of  that  kindly  glance ; — 

The  angel  watching  by  divines, 

And  spares  awhile  his  blissful  trance. 

Or  haply  to  his  native  lake 

His  vision  wafts  him  back,  to  talk 
With  Jesus,  ere  his  flight  he  takes, 

As  in  that  solemn  evening  walk, 

When  to  the  bosom  of  his  friend, 

The  Shepherd,  He  whose  name  is  Good, 

Did  his  dear  lambs  and  sheep  commend, 
Both  bought  and  nourished  with  His  blood. 

Then  laid  on  him  th'  inverted  tree, 

Which,  firm  embraced  with  heart  and  arm, 

Might  cast  o'er  hope  and  memory, 
O'er  life  and  death,  its  awful  charm. 


42G  ST.    PETER'S   RELEASE. 

With  brightening  heart  he  bears  it  on, 
His  passport  through  the  eternal  gates, 

To  his  sweet  home — so  nearly  won, 
He  seems,  as  by  the  door  he  waits, 

The  unexpressive  notes  to  hear 
Of  angel  song  and  angel  motion, 

Rising  and  falling  on  the  ear 
Like  waves  in  Joy's  unbounded  ocean. 

His  dream  is  changed — the  tyrant's  voice 
Calls  to  that  last  of  glorious  deeds — 

But  as  he  rises  to  rejoice, 
Not  Herod,  but  an  angel  leads. 

He  dreams  he  sees  a  lamp  flash  bright, 
Glancing  around  his  prison  room, — 

But  'tis  a  gleam  of  heavenly  light 
That  fills  up  all  the  ample  gloom. 

The  flame,  that  in  a  few  short  years 
Deep  through  the  chambers  of  the  dead 

Shall  pierce,  and  dry  the  fount  of  tears, 
Is  waving  o'er  his  dungeon-bed. 

Touched,  he  up  starts — his  chains  unbind — 
Through  darksome  vault,  up  massy  stair, 

His  dizzy,  doubting  footsteps  wind 
To  freedom  and  cool  moonlight  air. 


ST.    PETER'S   RELEASE.  427 

Then  all  himself,  all  joy  and  calm, 

Though  for  awhile  his  hand  forego, 
Just  as  it  touched  the  martyr's  palm, 

He  turns  him  to  his  task  below ; 

The  pastoral  staff,  the  keys  of  heaven, 
To  wield  awhile  in  gray-haired  might, 

Then  from  his  cross  to  spring  forgiven, 
And  follow  Jesus  out  of  sight. 

John  Keble. 


Ifaul  anxt  Bamafaas  at 


And  when  the  people  saw  what  Paul  had  done,  they  lifted  up  their  voice?,  say 
ing  in  the  speech  of  Lycaonia,  "  The  gods  are  come  down  to  us  in  the  likeness  of 
men,"—  ACTS  xiv.  11. 

EMERGING  from  the  whirlwind  and  the  storm 
Of  persecution,  Paul,  with  Barnabas, 
To  Lystra  comes,  and  earnest  there  proclaims 
Redemption,  Judgment  ;  heraldry  divine, 
Tidings  melodious  as  angelic  bliss, 
And  sovereign  as  the  harp  of  Jesse's  son 
To  heal  distempered  minds  :  his  ardent  speech 
Rebukes,  exhorts  ;  now  thundering  in  their  ears 
The  terror  of  the  Lord,  unfolding  now 
Mystery  of  love  omnipotent.     "  Awake, 
Arise,  benighted  sleepers,  from  the  dead, 
And  Christ  shall  give  you  wisdom,  and  instruct 
To  chequer  life's  dark  vale  with  sunny  gleams 
Of  truth  and  virtue,  'till  Salvation  ope 
Her  portals  and  her  mansions,  to  receive 
And  welcome  you  to  rapture  !  "  —  Crowds,  athirst 
For  novelty,  around  th'  apostle  press, 
Lightly  to  hear,  and  lightly  to  depart, 
Relasping  to  oblivion  ;  while  obdured 

By  vain  philosophy,  high-reaching  power, 

428 


PAUL    AND     BARNABAS    AT    LYSTBA.  429 

Patrician  eminence,  voluptuous  ease, 
The  children  of  prosperity  deride 
Contrition's  call.     Far  other  passion  moves 
Yon  loathed  beggar,  cripple  from  the  womb, 
On  the  cold  earth  extended,  and  embossed 
With  leprosy  ;  yet  glorious  all  within, 
Arrayed  in  righteousness,  and  eagle-winged 
With  piety  and  hope  ;  thence  happier  far 
Than  they  from  whom  this  supplication  wrings 
A  scanty  alms. — (Ambition's  blaze,  the  dreams 
Of  fame  and  riches,  vanish  and  decay  ; 
But  virtues  vanish  not,  to  paradise 
Translated  with  empyreal  youth  to  bloom.) 
In  squalor  and  in  dereliction  scorned, 
Outcast  of  human  pity,  but  upheld 
By  grace  and  guardian  seraphim,  and  doomed 
On  earth  to  suffer,  but  rejoice  in  heaven, 
The  mourner  lay  ;  when  he  of  Tarsus  saw 
His  misery,  and  with  thought-exploring  eye 
Discerned  his  faith,  and  issued  thus  command : 

"  Arise,  forlorn  and  helpless,  from  the  dust ; 
Forget  thy  desolation  ;  in  the  name 
Of  Jesus  rise  and  walk !  "  —While  yet  he  spake, 
Through  the  shrunk  sinews  and  contracted  limbs 
Ethereal  vigor  darts  like  lightning  flame, 
Enkindling  health,  and  purging  off  in  scales 
Leprous  pollution  ;  through  each  pulse  and  vein, 
Through  sense  and  motion,  heart  and  eye  and  soul, 
The  genial  spirits  dance  ;  and  the  gaunt  frame, 


430  PAUL     AND     BARNABAS     AT     LYSTRA. 

Lato  the  mind's  noisome  dungeon,  spheres  her  now 

In  palace  of  delight.     The  cripple  rose 

Exulting,  walked  and  leaped  and  bounding  ran 

Light  as  the  roebuck ;  yet  in  frantic  joy 

Not  thankless,  or  unmindful  to  extol 

Supernal  mercy.     Him  the  multitude 

Pursued  and  held ;  insatiate  to  survey 

In  speculation  mute  his  altered  form, 

Athletic  beauty :  Some,  half  fearful,  touched 

The  withered  lazar  hands,  now  warm  with  blood 

Salubrious,  and  with  pliant  muscles  strung : 

Some  lifted  up  his  garments,  to  behold 

The  well-compacted  knees,  th'  elastic  feet, 

And  ankles  firm ;  while  round  the  whisper  flew, 

"  Is  this  the  suppliant  stretched  so  late  supine, 

Fed  by  precarious  bounty,  and  with  groans 

Saddening  the  day  ?  "     Confusion  of  applause, 

Tempest  of  acclamation,  next  ensued 

From  young  and  old  :  "  The  Deities  descend 

In  mortal  shape  !  "  they  cried:  "  To  Lystra's  domes 

And  honored  temples,  welcome  and  all  hail, 

Dread-thundering  monarch,  cloud-compelling  Jove  ! 

Bright  son  of  Maia,  hail !  "     The  city  swarms 

In  wild  commotion  roused  as  by  affright 

Of  midnight  conflagration  or  the  din 

Of  battle  :  streets  and  avenues  disgorge 

Augmenting  thousands  :  matrons,  children,  climb 

The  roofs  and  walls,  and  in  astonishment 

Sit  gazing  there.     So  all  was  ecstacy 

And  tumult  all,  'till  veneration  hushed 

Their  thronged  idolatry  :  for  now  the  priest 


PAUL     AND     BARNABAS     AT     LYSTRA.  431 

Of  Jupiter  advancing,  oxen  brought 

And  garlands,  and  the  sanctimonious  rites 

Solemn  prepared,  though  with  disordered  pomp, 

As  summoned  hasty ;  now  the  goblet  foamed 

Libation,  and  the  victim's  neck  was  bowed  ; 

Spices  in  odorous  piles  already  blazed, 

Already  the  grim  sacrificer  stood 

In  act  to  strike  ;  when,  with  indignant  shame, 

Tk'  ambassadors  of  Majesty  divine, 

Perceiving  their  intent,  among  them  rushed 

Precipitate,  and  boldly  overthrew 

Each  instrument  of  worship,  and  reproved 

Their  impious  folly. — "  Cease  ye,  nor  present 

Knee-tribute,  nor  to  us  the  name  ascribe 

Of  Godhead ;  wanderers  we,  of  earthly  mould  ; 

Of  peril,  woe,  disaster,  and  disease 

Partakers,  and  of  death.     But  would  ye  learn 

Whom  and  how  best  to  worship,  that  our  lips 

Instructed  and  commissioned,  shall  declare. 

"  Can  the  dumb  idol  measure  in  his  hand 
The  floods  of  ocean,  or  in  the  balance  weigh 
The  mountains  and  the  valleys,  or  convulse 
The  steadfast  earth,  alternate  rouse  and  quell 
The  stormy  winds,  and  bid  conflicting  clouds 
Dissolve  in  deluge  ?  or  will  thunders  roar, 
And  lightnings  flash,  obsequious  to  his  call  ? 
Say,  can  the  molten  image  look  abroad 
Through  depths  of  ether,  and  appoint  each  orb 
To  come  and  go,  refulgent  now  t'  illume 


432  PAUL    AND    BARNABAS    AT    LYSTRA. 

The  firmamcntal  concave,  now  withdraw 
To  dimness  and  extinction  ?  can  such  eye, 
Like  sunbeam,  search  affection  and  desire  ? 
Hath  motionless  and  chiseled  marble  power 
-  And  wisdom  ?  can  it  punish  and  reward 
Guilt  undivulged  and  virtues  yet  unknown, 
Judge  by  the  heart,  and  equity  dispense 
To  empires  and  to  worlds  ?     He  only  can, 
Whom,  Lord  of  immortality  and  life, 
Supreme,  invisible,  Almighty  King, 
Sole  Godhead  I  proclaim.     Ye  heavens,  attend  ! 
Give  ear,  0  earth  !  all-radiant  sun,  confess 
Thine  Author  !     Times  and  seasons,  months  and  years, 
And  all  that  live  or  live  not,  record  join, 
His  wonders  of  perfection  to  display  ! 
Him,  the  one  God  and  true,  through  youth  and  age, 
Through  peril  and  through  safety,  joy  and  woe, 
Perpetual  will  we  worship  and  extol 
His  wondrous  name,  in  bounty  wondrous  found 
To  all  that  live ;  them  chiefly  who  confess 
His  empire,  while  their  holiness  and  truth 
(Faith's  proper  sign)  like  lamps  celestial  burn, 
Dispelling  death,  and  darkness,  and  the  way 
Illuminating  to  Jehovah's  throne." 

The  congregation  heard, 
Awe-struck,  yet  unrepentant,  murmuring  paid 
Odedience,  and  reluctantly  dismissed 
The  sacrifices  :  then  with  cloudy  front 
And  troubled  rumination,  sad  and  slow 
Dispersing,  to  their  several  homes  returned. 


PAUL     AND     BARNABAS     AT     L  Y  S  T  K  A  .  433 

And  couldst  thou,  Lystra,  thus  ungracious  hear 
Such  exhortation,  or  the  following  morn 
With  arms  and  murderous  insurrection  chase 
Heaven's  ministers,  while  the  converted  few 
Aloof  stood  mourning,  powerless  to  resist 
The  popular  frenzy  ? — So  Jerusalem 
Caroled  Hosannas  to  th'  approaching  Son 
Of  David  :  but  in  little  space  how  changed  ! 
That  triumph  yet  re-echoing  in  mid  ahy 
Her  fierce  impiety  with  uproar  doomed 
Messiah  to  the  cross  ! — So  scorns  the  world 
Each  admonition  that  from  idol  vows 
Of  pleasure,  avarice,  or  ambitious  power 
Adjures  them  to  return,  and  find  repose 
And  pardon  from  the  Mediatorial  Grace 
That  ransomed  man. — 0,  high  and  lofty  Sire, 
Inhabiting  eternity,  incline 
A  wayward  world  to  fear  Thee,  and  devote 
To  Thee  each  word  and  action,  heart  and  sou. . 

Charles  Hoyle 


Ifaul  and  Silas  at 


And  suddenly  there  was  a  great  earthquake,  so  that  the  foundations  of  the 
prison  were  shaken  :  and  jmmediately  all  the  doors  were  opened,  and  every  one's 
bands  were  loosed.  —  ACTS  xvi.  26. 

HEAREST  thou  that  solemn  symphony,  that  swells 
And  echoes  through  Philippi's  gloomy  cells  ? 
From  vault  to  vault  the  heavy  notes  rebound, 
And  granite  rocks  reverberate  the  sound. 
The  wretch,  who  long  in  dungeons  cold  and  dank 
Had  shook  his  fetters,  that  their  iron  clank 
Might  break  the  grave-like  silence  of  that  prison, 
On  which  the  star  of  hope  had  never  risen  ; 
Then  sunk  in  slumbers  by  despair  oppressed, 
And  dreamed  of  freedom  in  his  broken  rest  ; 
Wakes  at  the  music  of  these  mellow  strains, 
Thinks  it  some  spirit,  and  forgets  his  chains.  t 

'Tis  Paul  and  Silas,  who  at  midnight  pay 
To  Him  of  Nazareth  a  grateful  lay. 
Soon  is  that  anthem  wafted  to  the  skies  ; 
An  angel  bears  it,  and  a  God  replies  : 
At  that  reply  a  pale  portentous  light 
Plays  through  the  air,  —  then  leaves  a  gloomier  night. 
The  darkly  tottering  towers,  —  the  trembling  arch,  — 

The  rocking  walls  confess  a  monarch's  march,  — 

434 


PAUL    AND     SILAS     AT    PHILIPPI.  435 

The  stars  look  dimly  through  the  roof: — behold, 
From  saffron  dews,  and  melting  clouds  of  gold, 
Brightly  uncurling  on  the  dungeon's  air, 
Freedom  walks  forth  serene ;  from  her  loose  hair, 
And  every  glistening  feather  of  her  wings, 
Perfumes,  that  breathe  of  more  than  earth,  she  flings, 
And  with  a  touch  dissolves  the  prisoner's  chains, 
Whose  song  had  charmed  her  from  celestial  plains. 

John  Pierpont. 


Ifmshwg:  at 


Whom  therefore  yc  ignorantly  worship,  him  declare  I  unto  you."— ACTS 
xvii.  23. 


GREECE  !  hear  that  joyful  sound, 
A  stranger's  voice  upon  thy  sacred  hill, 
Whose  tone  shall  bid  the  slumbering  nations  round 

Wake  with  convulsive  thrill. 
Athenians  !  gather  there  :  he  brings  you  words, 
Brighter  than  all  your  boasted  lore  affords. 


He  brings  you  news  of  One 
Above  Olympian  Jove  ;  One  in  whose  light 
Your  gods  shall  fade  like  stars  before  the  sun. 

On  your  bewildered  night. 
That  Unknown  God,  of  whom  ye  darkly  dream, 
In  all  his  burning  radiance  shall  beam. 


Behold,  he  bids  you  rise 

From  your  dark  worship  round  that  idol  shrine  ; 
He  points  to  him  who  reared  your  starry  skies, 

And  bade  your  Phoebus  shine  ; 

436 


PAUL    PHEACHING     AT     ATHENS.  437 

Lift  up  your  souls  from  where  in  dust  ye  bow ; 
That  God  of  gods  commands  your  homage  now. 

But,  brighter  tidings  still ! 
He  tells  of  One  whose  precious  blood  was  spilt 
In  lavish  streams  upon  Judea's  hill, 

A  ransom  for  your  guilt ; — 

Who  triumphed  o'er  the  grave,  and  broke  its  chain, 
Who  conquered  Death  and  Hell,  and  rose  again. 

Sages  of  Greece !  come  near — 
Spirits  of  daring  thought  and  giant  mould, 
Ye  questioners  of  time  and  nature,  hear 

Mysteries  before  untold ! — 
Immortal  life  revealed !  light  for  which  ye 
Have  tasked  in  vain  your  proud  philosophy. 

Searchers  for  some  first  cause ! 
'Midst  doubt  and  darkness — lo  !  he  points  to  One, 
Where  all  your  vaunted  reason  lost  must  pause, 

And  faint  to  think  upon, — 
That  was  from  everlasting,  that  shall  be 
To  everlasting  still,  eternally. 

Ye  followers  of  him 
Who  deemed  his  soul  a  spark  of  deity, 
Your  fancies  fade, — your  master's  dreams  grow  dim 

To  this  reality. 

Stoic !  unbend  that  brow,  drink  in  that  sound ! 
Sceptic  !  dispel  those  doubts — the  Truth  is  found. 


438        PAUL  PREACHING  AT  ATHENS. 

Greece !  though  thy  sculptured  walls 
Have  with  thy  triumphs  and  thy  glories  rung, 
And  through  thy  temples  and  thy  pillared  halls 

Immortal  poets  sung, — 

No  sounds  like  these  have  rent  your  startled  air ; 
They  open  realms  of  light,  and  bid  you  enter  there. 

Ann  Charlotte  Lyncli. 


And  when  they  heard  of  the  resuiTection  of  the  dead,  some  mocked,  and  others 
said,  "  We  will  hear  thec  again  of  this  matter."— ACTS  xvii.  23. 

UPBORNE  on  towering  fancy's  eagle  wing, 
Methinks  imagination's  piercing  eye 
Darts 'through  the  veil  of  ages,  and  beholds 
Imperial  Athens  ;  views  her  sumptuous  domes, 
Her  gorgeous  palaces,  and  splendid  fanes, 
-  Inscribed  to  all  the  various  deities 
That  crowd  the  pagan  heaven.     Amid  the  rest 
An  altar  sacred  TO  THE  GOD  UNKNOWN 
Attracts  my  gaze  ;  I  see  a  list'ning  throng 
With  eager  haste  press  round  a  reverend  form, 
"Whose  lifted  hands  and  contemplative  mien 
Express  the  anxious  feelings  of  a  mind 
Big  with  momentous  cares.     'Tis  he  !  'tis  he ! 
Methinks  I  hear  the  apostle  of  my  God 
From  blind  idolatry  to  purer  faith 
Call  the  deluded  city ;  naught  avails 
The  rude  abuse  of  jeering  ignorance, 
Nor  all  the  scoffs  that  malice  can  invent ; 
To  duty  firm,  their  mockery  he  derides, 
And,  with  intrepid  tone,  divinely  brave, 


440  THE     RESURRECTION. 

Proclaims  the  blessed  Jesus,  tells  His  power, 
His  gracious  mercy  and  unbounded  love 
To  sinful  man  ;  tells  how  the  Saviour  fell, 
Awhile  a  victim  to  insulting  death, 
'Till,  bursting  from  the  prison  of  the  grave, 
He  rose  to  glory,  and  to  earth  declared 
These  joyful  tidings,  this  important  truth,— 
"  There  is  another  and  a  better  world." 

Who  shall  describe  the  senate's  wild  amaze, 
When  the  great  orator  announced  that  day, 
That  solemn  day,  when  from  the  yawning  earth 
The  dead  shall  rise,  and  ocean's  deep  ajpyss 
Pour  forth  its  buried  millions  ?     When,  'mid  choirs 
Of  angels  throned,  the  righteous  God  shall  sit 
To  judge  the  gathered  nations.     Vice  appalled, 
With  trembling  steps  retired,  and  guilty  fear 
Shook  every  frame,  when  holy  Paul  pronounced 
The  awful  truth  ;  dark  superstition's  fiend 
Convulsive  writhed  within  his  mighty  grasp, 
And  persecution's  dagger,  half  unsheathed, 
Back  to  its  scabbard  slunk  ;  celestial  grace 
Around  him  beamed  ;  sublime  the  apostle  stood, 
In  heaven's  impenetrable  armor  clothed, 
Alone,  unhurt  before  a  host  of  foes. 
So,  'mid  the  billows  of  the  boundless  main, 
Some  rock's  vast  fabric  rears  its  lofty  form, 
And  o'er  the  angry  surge  that  roars  below 
Indignant  frowns  ;  in  vain  the  tempest  howls, 
The  blast  rude  sweeping  o'er  the  troubled  deep 


THE    RESURRECTION.  441 

Assaults  in  vain:  unmoved  the  giant  views 
All  nature's  war,  as  'gainst  his  flinty  sides 
Wave  after  wave  expends  its  little  rage, 
And  breaks  in  harmless  murmurs  at  his  feet. 

William  Holland. 


Ifaul 


Then  Agrippa  said  unto  Paul,  "Almost  thou  pcrsuadcst  me  to  be  a  Christian." 
And  Paul  said,  "  I  would  to  God  that  not  only  thou,  but  also  all  that  hear  me 
this  day,  were  both  almost  and  altogether  such  as  I  am,  except  these  bonds."  — 
ACTS  xxvi.  28,  29. 

THE  son  of  Herod  sat  in  regal  state 
Fast  by  his  sister  queen  —  and  'mid  the  throng 
Of  supple  courtiers,  and  of  Koman  guards, 
Gave  solemn  audience.     Summoned  to  his  bower 
A  prisoner  came  —  who,  with  no  flattering  tongue 
Brought  incense  to  a  mortal.     Every  eye 
Questioned  his  brow,  with  scowling  eagerness, 
As  there  he  stood  in  bonds.     But  when  he  spoke 
With  such  majestic  earnestness,  such  grace 
Of  simple  courtesy  —  with  fervent  zeal 
So  boldly  reasoned  for  the  truth  of  God, 
The  ardor  of  his  heaven-taught  eloquence 
Wrought  in  the  royal  bosom,  till  its  pulse 
Responsive  trembled,  with  the  new-born  hope, 
Almost  to  be  a  Christian. 

So  he  rose, 

And  with  the  courtly  train  swept  forth  in  pomp. 
Almost  !  and  was  this  all,  —  thou  Jewish  prince  ? 

442 


PAUL    BEFORE     AGRIPPA.  443 

Thou  listenedst  to  the  ambassador  of  Heaven, 

Almost  persuaded  !     Ah !  hadst  thou  exchanged 

Thy  trappings,  and  thy  purple,  for  his  bonds, 

Who  stood  before  thee ;  hadst  thou  drawn  his  hope 

Into  thy  bosom, — even  with  the  spear 

Of  martyrdom, — How  great  had  been  thy  gain  ! 

And  ye,  who  linger  while  the  call  of  God 

Bears  witness  with  your  conscience,  and  would  fain, 

Like  King  Agrippa,  follow,  yet  draw  back 

Awhile  into  the  vortex  of  the  world, — 

Perchance  to  swell  the  horde  which  Death  shall  sweep 

Like  driven  chaff  away,  'mid  stranger  hands, — 

Perchance  by  Pleasure's  deadening  opiate  lulled 

To  false  security, — or,  by  the  fear 

Of  man  constrained, — or  moved  to  give  your  sins 

A  little  longer  scope, — beware  !  beware  ! 

Lest  that  dread  almost  shut  you  out  from  Heaven ! 

Lydia  H.  Sigourney. 


In  my  name  shall  they  cast  out  devils ;  they  shall  speak  with  new  tongues  ;  they 
shall  take  up  serpents  ;  and  if  they  drink  any  deadly  thing,  it  shall  not  hurt  them ; 
they  shall  lay  hands  on  the  sick  and  they  shall  recover. — ST.  MAHK  xvi.  17. 

LET  not  the  skeptic's  ignorance  presume 
To  mark  the  limits  of  celestial  power, 
Nor  weigh  its  greatness  in  the  partial  scale 
Of  little  man's  confined  philosophy. 
What !  shall  that  God  whose  energies  divine 
Waked  slumb'ring  matter  from  the  dark  abyss 
Of  chaos,  and  with  all-creative  hand 
Bade  each  minuter  particle  assume 
Its  form  and  character ;  shall  He,  whose  arm 
Upon  the  boundless  ocean  of  the  air 
Launched  yon  stupendous  continent  of  fire, 
Round  which,  by  laws  immutable  constrained, 
The  subject  planets  roll  their  pendent  orbs  ; 
Shall  that  great  God,  who,  with  all-seeing  eye 
And  wisdom  infinite,  assigned  its  place 
To  each  created  atom  ;  who  arranged 
And  methodized  by  comprehensive  rule, 
In  order  beautiful,  the  harmonious  whole ; 
Who,  calling  forth  its  active  properties, 

And  blending  all  their  excellence,  produced 

444 


MIRACLES. 


445 


That  miracle  of  miracles,  this  world  ;— 

Shall  he  be  bounded  by  the  narrow  line 

Of  mortal  action  ?     Cease,  presumptuous  man  ; 

Doubt  not  because  thou  canst  not  understand. 

Thy  circumscribed  reason  ne'er  shall  reach 

The  secret  depths,  or  trace  the  hidden  maze 

Of  heavenly  councils :  call  thy  truant  thoughts 

Back  to  their  God,  nor  with  fallacious  art 

Seek  to  mislead  th'  uncultivated  mind 

That  asks  of  thce  instruction  :  rather  let 

The  passing  wonders  of  thy  Makers  works 

Excite  thine  adoration  and  arouse 

Thy  sleeping  faculties  in  hymns  of  praise  :— 

"  Great  Lord  of  Life !  to  Thee  I  kneel,  to  Thee 

Pour  forth  the  warm  effusions  of  a  heart 

Grateful  for  all  Thy  mercies  :  Lord,  look  down 

Upon  Thy  servant,  and,  as  once  Thou  deign'dst 

To  send  Thy  Spirit  to  conduct  the  steps 

Of  Israel's  children  through  the  pathless  waste 

To  happier  regions,  so  may'st  Thou,  0  God, 

Guide  through  this  world,  this  wilderness  of  sin, 

A  hopeless  wand'rcr,  and  at  last  from  death 

Raise  up  his  raptured  soul  to  that  high  heaven, 

Where,  throned  with  Thee,  the  just  shall  ever  live, 

In  endless  peace  and  everlasting  love." 

William  Holland. 


Warfare 

Take  unto  you  the  whole  armour  of  God.— EPHESJANS  vi.  13. 

SOLDIER,  go,  but  not  to  claim 

Mouldering  spoils  of  earthborn  treasure, 
Not  to  build  a  vaunting  name, 

Not  to  dwell  in  tents  of  pleasure ; 
Dream  not  that  tbe  way  is  smooth, 

Hope  not  that  the  thorns  are  roses, 
Turn  no  wistful  eye  of  youth 

Where  the  sunny  beam  reposes ; — 
Thou  hast  sterner  work  to  do, 
Hosts  to  cut  thy  passage  through  ; 

Close  behind  thee  gulfs  are  burning 

Forward !  there  is  no  returning. 

Soldier,  rest— but  not  for  thee, 

Spreads  the  world  her  downy  pillow; 
On  the  rock  thy  couch  must  be, 

While  around  thee  chafes  the  billow; 
Thine  must  be  a  watchful  sleep, 

Wearier  than  another's  waking ; 
Such  a  charge  as  tliou  dost  keep 

Brooks  no  moment  of  forsaking. 

446 


CHRISTIAN    WARFARE.  447 

Sleep  as  on  the  battle-field, — 
Girded — grasping  sword  and  shield  ; 

Those  thou  canst  not  name  nor  number, 

Steal  upon  thy  broken  slumber. 

Soldier,  rise — the  war  is  done  ; 

Lo !  the  hosts  of  hell  are  flying : 
'Twas  thy  Lord  the  battle  won, 

Jesus  vanquished  them  by  dying. 
Pass  the  stream — before  thee  lies 

All  the  conquered  land  of  glory  ; 
Hark !  what  songs  of  rapture  rise, 

These  proclaim  the  victor's  story. 
Soldier,  lay  thy  weapons  down, 
Quit  the  sword  and  take  the  crown 
Triumph !  all  thy  foes  are  banished, 
Death  is  slain  and  earth  has  vanished. 

Charlotte  Elizabeth. 


Tkt3  Sfon;  xxf 


And  I  heard  as  it  were  the  voice  of  a  great  multitude,  and  as  the  voice  of  many 
waters,  and  as  the  voice  of  mighty  thunderings,  saying,  "Alleluia  ;  for  the  Lord 
God  omnipotent  reigneth." — REV.  xix.  6. 


STAND  up  before  your  God, 

You  army  bold  and  bright, 
Saints,  martyrs,  and  confessors 

In  your  robes  of  white ; 
The  church  below  doth  challenge  you 

To  an  act  of  praise  ; 
Ready  with  mirth  in  all  the  earth 

Her  matin  song  to  raise. 


Stand  up  before  your  God, 

In  beautiful  array, 
Make  ready  all  your  instruments 

The  while  we  mourn  and  pray  ; 
For  we  must  stay  to  mourn  and  pray 

Some  prelude  to  our  song ; 
The  fear  of  death  has  clogged  our  breath 

And  our  foes  are  swift  and  strong. 

448 


THE    SONG    OF    THE     REDEEMED.  449 

• 

But  ye,  before  your  God, 

Are  hushed  from  all  alarm, 
Out  through  the  grave  and  gate  of  death 

Ye  have  passed  into  the  calm ; 
Your  fight  is  done,  your  victory  won, 

Through  peril  and  toil  and  blood ; 
Among  the  slain  on  the  battle-plain, 

We  buried  ye  where  ye  stood. 

Stand  up  before  your  God, 

Although  we  can  not  hear 
The  new  song  he  hath  taught  you 

With  our  fleshly  ear, 
Our  bosoms  burn  that  hymn  to  learn, 

And  from  the  church  below, 
E'en  while  we  sing,  on  heavenward  wing 
-  Some  happy  souls  shall  go. 

Ye  stand  before  your  God, 

But  we  press  onward  still, 
The  soldiers  of  His  army, 

The  servants  of  His  will ; 
A  captive  band,  in  foreign  land 

Long  ages  we  have  been ; 
But  our  dearest  theme  and  our  fondest  dream 

Is  the  home  we  have  not  seen. 

We  soon  shall  meet  our  God, 

4 

The  hour  is  wafting  on, 
The  dayspring  from  on  high  hath  risen, 

And  the  night  is  spent  and  gone ; 
29 


450        THE  SONG  OF  THE  REDEEMED. 

The  light  of  earth,  it  had  its  birth, 

And  it  shall  have  its  doom  ; 
The  sons  of  earth  they  are  few  in  birth, 

But  many  in  the  tomb. 

Henry  Alford. 


xif 


How  beautiful  are  the  feet  of  them  that  preach  the  GOSPEL  or  PEACE,  and 
bring  glad  tidings  of  good  things.  —  ROMANS  x.  15. 

WHILE  to  Betlilcm  wo  are  going, 

Tell  me,  Bias,  to  cheer  the  road, 
Tell  me  why  this  lovely  infant 

Quitted  his  divine  abode  ? 
"From  that  world,  to  bring  to  this 

Peace,  which  of  all  earthly  blisses, 
Is  the  brightest,  purest  bliss." 

Wherefore  from  his  throne  exalted 

Came  he  on  this  earth  to  dwell,  — 
All  his  pomp  an  humble  manger, 

All  his  court  a  narrow  cell  ? 
"  From  that  world  to  bring  to  this 

Peace,  which  of  all  earthly  blisses, 
Is  the  brightest  purest  bliss." 

Why  did  he,  the  Lord  Eternal, 

Mortal  pilgrim  deign  to  be,  — 
He,  who  fashioned  for  his  glory 

Boundless  immortality  ? 


452  THE  GOSPEL  OP  PEACE. 

"  From  that  world  to  bring  to  this 

Peace,  which,  of  all  earthly  blisses, 
Is  the  brightest,  purest  bliss." 

Well,  then,  let  us  haste  to  Bethlem, — 

Thither  let  us  haste  and  rest : 
For,  of  all  Heaven's  gifts,  the  sweetest, 

Sure,  is  Peace, — the  sweetest,  best. 

John  Bowring. 


1  COR.  xiii. 

THOUGH  Cowper's  zeal,  though  Milton's  fire 

Inspired  my  glowing  tongue ; 
Though  holier  raptures  woke  my  lyre 

Than  ever  seraph  sung ; 
Though  faith,  though  knowledge  from  above 

Mine  ardent  labors  crowned ; 
Did  I  not  glow  with  Christian  love, 

'Twere  but  an  empty  sound. 

Love  suffers  long-;  is  just,  sincere, 

Forgiving,  slow  to  blame ; 
Friend  of  the  good,  she  grieves  to  hear 

An  erring  brother's  shame. 
Meek,  holy,  free  from  selfish  zeal, 

To  generous  pity  prone, 
She  envies  not  another's  weal 

Nor  triumphs  in  her  own. 

No  evil,  no  suspicious  thought, 

She  harbors  in  her  breast ; 
She  tries  us  by  the  deed  we've  wrought, 

And  still  believes  the  best. 


453 


CHARITY.  454 

Love  never  fails ;  though  knowledge  cease, 

Though  prophecies  decay, 
Love,  Christian  love,  shall  still  increase, 

Shall  still  extend  her  sway. 

Here  dimly  through  life's  shadowy  glass 

We  strain  our  infant  eyes ; 
Soon  shall  the  earthborn  vapors  pass, 

And  light  unclouded  rise  ; 
Then  Hope  shall  sink  in  changeless  doom, 

Then  Faith's  bright  race  be  o'er, 
But  thou,  eternal  Love,  shall  bloom, 

More  glorious  than  before. 

William  Peter. 


The 


If  in  this  life  only  we  have  hope  in  Christ,  we  are  of  all  men  most  miserable.— 
1  COR.  xv.  19. 

THERE  is  a  mourner,  and  her  heart  is  broken  ; 
She  is  a  widow  ;  she  is  old  and  poor  ; 
Her  only  hope  is  in  that  sacred  token 
Of  peaceful  happiness  when  life  is  o'er; 
She  asks  nor  wealth  nor  pleasure,  begs  no  more 
Than  Heaven's  delightful  volume,  and  the  sight 
Of  her  Eedeemer.     Skeptics,  would  you  pour 
Your  blasting  vials  on  her  head,  and  blight 
Sharon's  sweet  rose,  that  blooms  and  charms  her  being's 
night  ? 

She  lives  in  her  affections  ;  for  the  grave 
Has  closed  upon  her  husband,  children  ;  all 
Her  hopes  are  with  the  arm  she  trusts  will  save 
Her  treasured  jewels  ;  though  her  views  are  small, 
Though  she  has  never  mounted  high,  to  fall 
And  writhe  in  her  debasement,  yet  the  spring 
Of  her  meek,  tender  feelings,  can  not  pall 
Her  unperverted  palate,  but  will  bring 
A  joy  without  regret,  a  bliss  that  has  no  sting. 


456  THE     POOR. 

Even  as  a  fountain,  whose  unsullied  wave 
Wells  in  the  pathless  valley,  flowing  o'er 
With  silent  waters,  kissing,  as  they  lave 
The  pebbles  with  light  rippling,  and  the  shore 
Of  matted  grass  and  flowers,  so  softly  pour 
The  breathings  of  her  bosom,  when  she  prays, 
Low-bowed,  before  her  Maker ;  then  no  more 
She  muses  on  the  griefs  of  former  days ; 
Her  full  heart  melts,  and  flows  in  Heaven's  dissolving  rays. 

And  faith  can  see  a  new  world,  and  the  eyes 
Of  saints  look  pity  on  her : — Death  will  come — 
A  few  short  moments  over,  and  the  prize 
Of  peace  'eternal  waits  her,  and  the  tomb 
Becomes  her  fondest  pillow ;  all  its  gloom 
Is  scattered.     What  a  meeting  there  will  be 
To  her  and  all  she  loved  here  !  and  the  bloom 
Of  new  life  from  those  cheeks  shall  never  flee : 
Theirs  is  the  health  which  lasts  through  all  eternity. 

James  Cr.  Per  rival 


t* 


Take  heed,  brethren,  lest  there  be  in  any  of  you  an  evil  heart  of  unbelief. 
HEBREWS  iii.  12. 

THE  tree  that  yields  our  care  and  grief, 
Is  from  a  root  of  unbelief ! 
The  pricking  thorns,  the  arrows  fierce, 
Our  spirit  and  our  flesh  to  pierce — 
The  grafts  that  spoil  our  vineyard's  fruit, 
Are  from  that  bitter  evil  root. 

V 

The  branch  that  hangs  with  clustering  woes — 

The  flag-staff  of  the  prince  of  foes — 

The  tares  that  mar  our  golden  sheaf, 

All,  all  spring  up  from  unbelief: 

And  Hope,  the  victim  of  Despair, 

Points,  dying,  to  the  poison  there. 

But  in  Belief  we've  joy  and  peace, 
Of  faith  and  power  a  sweet  increase ; 
From  burning  skies  a  cool  retreat, 
A  shelter  safe  when  tempests  beat — 
Fresh  balm  of  Gilead  for  our  grief — 
For  every  wound  a  healing  leaf. 


457 


458  PEACE     IN     BELIEVING. 

Belief  smooths  down  our  thorny  cares, 
With  shooting  grain  uproots  the  tares, 
Our  harp  from  off  the  willow  takes 
And  every  chord  to  music  wakes, 
Till  Hope,  laid  icy  in  the  tomb, 
Springs  up  with  life  and  beauty's  bloom. 

When  night  comes  murky,  drear,  and  damp, 
Belief  will  feed  and  screen  our  lamp, 
Upon  our  feet  her  sandals  bind, 
About  our  waist  her  girdle  wind, 
Then  lend  a  staff,  and  lead  the  way, 
'Till  we  walk  forth  to  beaming  day. 

When  all  the  fountains  of  the  deep 
Seem  broken  up  o'er  earth  to  sweep ; 
While  billowy  mountains  toss  our  bark, 
Beliefs  the  dove,  from  out  the  ark, 
Across  the  flood  to  stretch  her  wing, 
And  home  the  branch  of  olive  bring. 

Belief  hath  eyes  so  heavenly  bright, 
As  on  the  cloud  to  cast  their  light, 
'Till  fair  ancl  glorious  hues  shall  form 
From  drops  and  shades  that  robed  the  storm, 
Bent  o'er  our  world  in  peace,  to  show . 
God's  covenant  sign,  his  unstrung  bow. 

When  through  a  dry  and  thirsty  land 
The  pilgrim  treads  the  desert  sand, 


PEACE     IN     BELIEVING.  459 

Belief  brings  distant  prospect  near, 
With  fruit,  and  bowers,  and  fountains  clear, 
Where,  when  he  strikes  his  tent,  he'll  be 
An  heir  of  immortality. 

While  Unbelief  would  ever  bring 
A  chain  about  our  spirit's  wing, 
Belief  will  plume  it  o'er  the  grave- 
Above  the  swell  of  Jordan's  wave- 
To  fly,  nor  droop,  'till  gently  furled 
In  that  sweet  home  the  spirit  world. 

Hannah  F.  Gould. 


ths 


And  I  heard  a  voice  from  heaven  saying  unto  me,  Write,  Blessed  are  the  dead 
which  die  in  the  Lord  from  henceforth. — KEV.  xiv.  13. 


OH,  how  blessed  are  ye  whose  toils  are  ended ! 
Who,  through  death,  have  unto  God  ascended ! 

Ye  have  risen 
From  the  cares  which  keep  us  still  in  prison. 

We  are  still  as  in  a  dungeon  living, 

Still  oppressed  with  sorrow  and  misgiving  ; 

Our  undertakings 
Are  but  toils,  and  troubles,  and  heart  breakings. 

Christ  has  wiped  away  your  tears  for  ever ; 
Ye  have  that  for  which  we  still  endeavor  ; 

To  you  are  chaunted 
Songs  which  yet  no  mortal  ear  have  haunted. 

Ah  !  who  would  not,  then,  depart  with  gladness, 
To  inherit  heaven  for  earthly  sadness  ? 

Who  here  would  languish 
Longer  in  bewailing  and  in  anguish  ? 

460 


BLESSED     ARE     THE     DEAD. 


461 


Come,  oli  Christ,  and  loose  the  chains  that  bind  us ! 
Lead  us  forth,  and  cast  this  world  behind  us ! 

With  thee,  the  Anointed, 
Finds  the  soul  its  joy  and  rest  appointed. 

Henry  W.  Longfellow. 


SING  we  the  peerless  deeds  of  martyred  saints, 

Their  glorious  merits,  and  their  portion  blest ; 
Of  all  the  conquerors  the  world  has  seen, 
The  greatest  and  the  best. 

Them  in  their  day  the  insatiate  world  abhorred, 

Because  they  did  forsake  it,  Lord,  for  Thee  ; 
Finding  it  all  a  barren  waste,  devoid 
Of  fruit,  or  flower,  or  tree. 

They  trod  beneath  them  every  threat  of  man, 
And  came  victorious  all  torments  through  ; 
The  iron  hooks  which  piecemeal  tore  their  flesh, 
Could  not  their  souls  subdue. 

Scourged,  crucified,  like  sheep  to  slaughter  led, 

Unmurmuring  they  met  their  cruel  fate  ; 
For  conscious  innocence  their  souls  upheld, 
In  patient  virtue  great. 

462 


OF     MANY     MARTYRS.  403 

What  tongue  those  joys,  0  Jesus !  can  disclose, 

Which  for  thy  martyred  saints  thou  dost  prepare ! 
Happy  who  in  thy  pains,  thrice  happy,  those 
Who  in  thy  glory  share ! 

Our  faults,  our  sins,  our  miseries  remove, 

Great  Deity  supreme,  immortal  King  ! 
Grant  us  thy  peace,  grant  us  thy  endless  love 
Through  endless  years  to  sing ! 

Breviary. 


Si  JttwUew  afttl  bis 


0  HOLY  CROSS,  on  thee  to  hang 

At  Jesus'  side  and  feel  the  sweet, 
And  taste  aright  each  healing  pang, 

What  saint,  what  virgin  martyr  e'er  was  meet  ? 

Two  only  of  His  own  found  grace 

The  very  death  He  died  to  die. 
Joyful  they  rushed  to  thine  embrace, 

And  angel  choirs,  half-envying,  waited  by. 

Joyful  they  speed  ; — but  how  is  this  ? 

Why  doubt  they  yet,  in  Jesus'  power 
To  grasp  their  crown  of  hard-won  bliss  ? 

Well  have  ye  fought ;  why  faint  in  victory's  hour  ? 

Two  brothers'  hearts  were  they,  the  first 

Who  shone  as  stars  in  Jesus'  band, 
For  thee  in  prayer  and  fasting  nursed, 

And  bearing  the  dread  Cross  !  from  land  to  land. 

464 


ST.     ANDREW    AND     HIS     CROSS.  465 

And  now,  in  wond'rous  sympathy, 

When  thou  art  nearer,  fain  to  draw 
These  who  had  yearned  so  long  for  thee, 

Shrink  from  thy  touch,  and  hide  their  eyes  for  awe. 

He  who  denied — he  dares  not  scale 

With  forward  step  thy  holy  stair. 
Best  for  his  giddy  heart  and  frail, 

In  humblest  penance  to  hang  downward  there. 

And  he  that  saintly  elder  meek, 

Wont,  of  old  time,  to  find  and  bring 
Brother  or  friend  with  Christ  to  speak, 

As  worthier  to  behold  the  heart-searching  King : — 

>. 
Ah  little  brooked  his  lowly  heart ; 

Such  glorious  crown  should  him  reward. 
Pie  sought  the  way  with  duteous  art, 

To  change  his  Cross,  yet  suffer  with  his  Lord. 

He  sought  and  found  ;  and  now,  where'er 

St.  Andrew's  holy  cross  we  see, 
In  royal  banner  blazoned  fair, 

Or  in  dread  cipher,  Holiest  Name  of  Thee, 

A  martyred  form  we  may  discern, 

There  bound,  there  preaching :  Image  meet 
Of  One  uplifted  high,  to  turn 

And  draw  to  Him  all  hearts  in  bondage  sweet. 
SO 


466  ST.     ANDREW     AND     HIS     CROSS. 

And  as  we  gaze,  may  He  impart 
The  grace  to  bear  what  he  shall  send  ; 

Yet  stay  the  rash,  self-pleasing  heart, 

Too  forward  with  his  cross  our  penal  woe  to  blend. 

Keble's  Lyra  Innocentium. 


THE  boats  are  out  and  the  storm  is  high ; 

We  kneel  on  the  shore  and  pray : 
The  star  of  the  sea  shines  still  in  the  sky, 

And  God  is  our  help  and  stay. 

The  fishers  are  weak  and  the  tide  is  strong, 

And  their  boat  seems  slight  and  frail ; 
But  St.  Peter  has  steered  it  for  them  so  long, 

It  would  weather  a  rougher  gale. 

St.  John,  the  beloved,  sails  with  them  too, 

And  his  loving  words  they  hear ; 
So  with  tender  trust  the  boat's  brave  crew 

Neither  doubt,  or  pause,  or  fear. 

He  who  sent  them  fishing  is  with  them  still, 

And  He  bids  them  cast  their  net ; 
And  He  has  the  power  their  boat  to  fill ; 

So  we  know  He  will  do  it  yet. 

*  Koman  Catholic. 

467 


4G8  FISHERS     OF     MEN. 

They  have  cast  their  nets  again  and  again, 

And  now  call  to  us  on  shore, 
If  our  feeble  prayers  seem  only  in  vain, 

We  will  pray,  and  pray  the  more. 

Though  the  storm  is  loud,  and  our  voice  is  drowned 

By  the  roar  of  the  wind  and  sea, 
We  know  that  more  terrible  tempests  found 

Their  ruler,  0  Lord,  in  Thee. 

See,  they  do  not  pause,  they  are  toiling  on, 

Yet  they  cast  a  loving  glance 
On  the  star  above,  and  ever  anon 

Look  up  through  the  blue  expanse. 

0  Mary,  listen  !  for  danger  is  nigh, 
And  we  know  thou  art  nearer  then  ; 

For  thy  Son's  dear  servants  to  thee  we  cry, 
Sent  out  as  fishers  of  men. 

0  watch — as  of  old  thou  didst  watch  the  boat 

On  the  Galilean  lake, — 
And  grant  that  the  fishers  may  keep  afloat, 

Till  the  nets,  overcharged,  shall  break. 

Adelaide  A.  Proctor. 


THE  May  winds  gently  lift  the  willow  leaves ; 

Around  the  rushy  point  comes  weltering  slow 
The  brimming  stream ;  alternate  sinks  and  heaves 
The  lily-bud  where  small  waves  ebb  and  flow. 
Willow-herb  and  meadow-sweet ! 

Ye,  the  soft  gales  that  visit  there, 
From  your  waving  censers  greet 

"With  stores  of  freshest,  balmiest  air. 

Como  bathe — the  steaming  noontide  hour  invites ; 
Even  in  your  face  the  sparkling  waters  smile, — 
Yet  on  the  brink  they  linger,  timid  wights, 

Pondering  and  measuring ;  on  their  gaze  the  while 
Eddying  pool  and  shady  creek 

Darker  and  deeper  seem  to  grow : 
On  and  onward  still  they  seek, 

Where  sport  may  less  adventurous  show. 

At  length  the  boldest  springs  :  but  ere  he  cleave 
The  flashing  waters,  eye  and  head  grow  dim ; 

Too  rash  it  seems,  the  firm  green  earth  to  leave  : 
Heaven  is  beneath  him :  shall  he  sink  or  swim  ? 

469 


470  BATHING. 

Far  in  boundless  depths,  he  sees 
The  rushing  clouds  obey  the  gale, 

Trembling  hands  and  tottering  knees 
All  in  that  dizzy  moment  fail. 

Oh  mark  him  well,  ye  candidates  of  heaven, 

Called  long  ago  to  float  in  Jesus'  ark 
Ye  know  not  where : — His  signal  now  is  given, 
The  Lord  draws  near  upon  the  waters  dark : 
To  your  eager  ear  the  voice 

Makes  awful  answer :  Come  to  me : 
Once  for  all  now  seal  your  choice, 
With  Christ  to  tread  the  boisterous  sea. 

And  dare  we  come  ?  since  he,  the  trusted  saint, 

Who  with  one  only  shared  the  Lord's  high  love, 
Shrank  from  the  tossing  gale,  and  scarce  with  faint 
And  feeble  cry  toward  the  Saviour  strove. 
Yes,  we  answer  the  dread  call, 

Not  fearless,  but  in  duteous  awe ; 
He  will  stay  the  frail  heart's  fall, 
His  arm  will  onward,  upward  draw. 

0  thou  of  little  faith,  why  didst  thou  doubt  ? 

Spare  not  for  him  to  walk  the  midnight  wave, 
On  the  dim  shore  at  morn  to  seek  him  out, 

Work  'iieath  his  eye,  and  near  him  make  thy  grave. 
So  backslidings  past,  no  more 

Shall  in  the  Heavens  remembered  be, 
Faith  the  three  denials  sore 

O'erpaying,  with  confessions  three. 


BATHING.  471 

Strange  power  of  mighty  love  !  if  heaven  allow 

Choice,  on  the  restless  waters  rather  found, 
Meeting  her  Lord  with  Cross  and  bleeding  brow 
Than  calmly  waiting  on  the  guarded  ground! 
Yearning  ever  to  spring  forth, 

And  feel  the  cold  waves  for  his  sake  ;— 
All  her  giving  of  no  worth, 
Yet  till  she  give,  her  heart  will  ache. 

Lyra  Innocentium. 


Sxms  af 


RASH  was  the  tongue,  and  unadvisedly  bold, 
Which  sought,  Salome,  for  thy  favored  twain 
Above  their  fellows,  in  Messiah's  reign 
On  right,  on  left,  the  foremost  place  to  hold. 
More  rash,  perhaps,  and  bolder  that  which  told 
Of  power  the  Saviour's  bitter  cup  to  drain, 
And  passing  stretch  of  human  strength  sustain 
His  bath  baptismal.     Lord,  by  thee  enrolled 
Thy  servant,  grant  me  thy  almighty  grace 
My  destined  portions  of  thy  grief  to  bear. 
Even  as  thou  wilt  !     But  chiefly  grant  thy  face 
Within  thy  glory's  realm  to  see,  whene'er 
Most  meet  thy  wisdom  deems  ;  whate'er  the  place 
It  must  be  blest,  for  thou  my  God  art  there. 

Mani. 


472 


THE  twelve  holy  men  are  gathered  in  prayer, 
The  psalm  mounts  on  high,  the  Spirit  descends  5 

A  keen  silent  thrilling  is  round  them  in  air, 

A  power  from  The  Highest  in  thought  and  word  blend? 


They  pass  by  the  way,  to  sight  poor  and  mean ; 

How  glorious  the  train  that  streams  to  and  fro ! 
The  blind,  dumb,  halt,  withered  by  hundreds  are  seen  ; 

The  prisoners  of  Satan  lie  chained  where  they  go. 


O  lay  them  but  where  the  shadow  may  fall 

Of  Christ's  awful  saint,  to  prayer  as  he  speeds ; 

The^mighty  love-token  all  fiends  shall  appal ; 
A  gale  breathe  from  Eden  assuaging  all  needs. 

Or  bring  where  they  lie,  Paul's  girdle  or  vest  : 
One  touch  and  one  word  ;  the  pain  fleets  away, 

The  dark  hour  of  frenzy  is  charmed  into  rest : — 
The  hem  of  Christ's  garment  all  creatures  obey. 

473 


474  RELICS    AND     MEMORIALS. 

Christ  is  in  his  saints :  from  Godhead  made  man, 
The  virtue  goes  out,  the  whole  world  to  bless ; 

O'er  lands  parched  and  weary  that  shadow  began 
To  spread  from  Saint  Peter,  and  ne'er  shall  grow  less. 

John  Keble. 


FOR  him  a  waking  blood-hound,  yelling  loud, 
That  in  his  bosom  long  had  sleeping  laid, 

A  guilty  conscience,  barking  after  blood, 
Pursued  eagerly,  nor  ever  stayed 
Till  the  betrayer's  self  it  had  betrayed. 

Oft  changed  the  place  ;  in  hope  away  to  wind  ; 

But  change  of  place  could  never  change  his  mind : 

Himself  he  flies  to  lose,  and  follows  for  to  find. 

With  that,  a  flaming  brand  a  Fury  catched 

And  shook  and  tossed  it  round  in  his  wild  thought ; 
So  from  his  heart  all  joy,  all  comfort  snatched 
With  every  star  of  hope ;  and  as  he  sought 
(With  present  fear,  and  future  grief  distraught) 
To  fly  from  his  own  heart,  and  aid  implore 
Of  Him,  the  more  he  gives,  that  hath  the  more, 
Whose  storehouse  is  the  heavens,  too  little  for  his  store : 

And  when  wild  Pentheus,  grown  mad  with  fear, 
Whole  troops  of  hellish  hags  about  him  spies ; 

Two  bloody  suns  stalking  the  dusky  sphere, 
And  twofold  Thebes  runs  rolling  in  his  eyes  ; 
Or  through  the  scene  staring  Orestes  flies, 


475 


476  JUDAS. 

With  eyes  flung  back  upon  his  mother's  ghost, 

That  with  infernal  serpents  all  emboss' d 

And  torches  quenched  in  blood,  doth  her  stern  son  accost. 

Such  horrid  gorgons,  and  misformed  forms 
Of  damned  fiends,  flew  dancing  in  his  heart, 

That  now  unable  to  endure  their  storms, 

"  Fly,  fly,  (he  cries,)  thyself  whate'er  thou  art, 

Hell,  hell,  already  burns  in  every  part." 
So  down  into  his  torturer's  arms  he  fell — 

Yet  oft  he  snatched  and  started  as  he  hung : — 

So,  when  the  senses  half  enslumbered  lie, 
The  headlong  body  ready  to  be  flung 
By  the  deluding  fancy  from  some  high 
And  craggy  -rock,  recovers  greedily, 
And  clasps  the  yielding  pillow,  half  asleep, 
And,  as  from  heaven  it  tumbled  to  the  deep, 
Feels  a  cold  sweat  through  every  member  creep. 

Giles  Fletcher. 


The  mission  of  the 

All  nations  shall  come  and  worship  before  thee. — REV.  xv.  4. 

AND  thou,  the  Light  of  God's  eternal  Word, 

Eecord  and  Spirit  of  the  living  Lord, 

Hid  and  unknown  from  half  the  world,  at  length, 

Rise  like  the  sun,  and  go  forth  in  thy  strength  ! 

Already  towering  o'er  old  Ganges'  stream, 

The  dark  pagoda  brightens  in  thy  beam ; 

And  the  dim  eagles  on  the  topmost  height 

Of  Juggernaut,  shine  as  in  morning  light ! 

Beyond  the  snows  of  savage  Labrador 

The  ray  pervades  pale  Greenland's  wintry  shore — • 

Proceed,  auspicious  and  eventful  day  ! 

Banner  of  Christ,  thy  ample  folds  display ! 

Let  Atlas  shout  with  Andes,  and  proclaim 

To  earth,  and  sea,  and  skies,  a  Saviour's  name, 

Till  angel  voices  in  the  sound  shall  blend, 

And  one  HOSANNA  !  from  all  worlds  ascend  ! 

William  Lisle  Boivles. 


477 


WE  need  some  Charmer,  for  our  hearts  are  sore 
With  longings  for  the  things  that  may  not  be — 

Faint  for  the  friends  that  shall  return  no  more 
Dark  with  distress  or  wrung  with  agony. 

"  What  is  this  life  ?     And  what  to  us  is  Death  ? 

Whence  came  we  ?  whither  go  ?     And  where  are  those 
Who  in  a  moment  stricken  from  our  side 

Passed  to  that  land  of  shadow  and  repose. 

"  Are  they  all  dust  ?  and  dust  must  we  become  ? 

Or  are  they  living  in  some  unknown  clime  ? 
Shall  we  regain  them  in  that  far-off  home, 

And  live  anew  beyond  the  waves  of  time  ? 

"  Oh  man  divine  ! — on  thee  our  souls  have  hung, 
Thou  wert  our  teacher  in  these  questions  high ; 

But  ah !  this  day  divides  thee  from  our  side, 
And  veils  in  dust  thy  kindly  guiding  eye." 

So  spake  the  youth  of  Athens,  weeping  round 

When  Socrates  lay  calmly  down  to  die — 
So  spake  the  Sage,  prophetic  of  the  hour 

When  Earth's  fair  Morning  Star  should  rise  on  high. 

478 


THE   CHARMER.  479 

They  found  him  not,  those  youths  of  soul  divine 
Long  seeking,  wandering,  watching  on  life's  shore  : 

Reasoning,  aspiring,  yearning  for  the  light, 

Death  came  and  found  them — doubting  as  before. 

But  years  passed  on — and  lo  !  the  charmer  came 
Pure,  silent,  sweet  as  comes  the  silver  dew — 

And  the  world  knew  him  not — he  walked  alone 
Encircled  only  by  his  trusting  few. 

Like  the  Athenian  Sage — rejected,  scorned, 

Betrayed,  condemned,  his  day  of  doom  drew  nigh^ 

He  drew  his  faithful  few  more  closely  round, 
And  told  them  that  His  hour  was  come  to  die. 

"Let^not  your  heart  be  troubled,"  then  He  said  :] 
My  Father's  house  has  mansions  large  and  fair  ; 

I  go  before  you  to  prepare  your  place  ; 
I  will  return  to  take  you  with  me  there. — 

And  since  that  hour  the  awful  foe  is  charmed, 

And  life  and  death  are  glorified  and  fair : 
Whither  he  went  we  know — the  way  we  know, 

And  with  firm  step  press  on  to  meet  Him  there. 

H.  B.  Stowe. 


Christ 

JESUS  CHRIST,  the  same  yesterday,  and  to-day,  and  forever."— HEB.  sal. 

CHANGE  is  written  everywhere, 
Time  and  death  o'er  all  are  raging  ; 

Seasons,  creatures,  all  declare, 
Man  is  mortal,  earth  is  changing. 

Life,  and  all  its  treasures,  seem 

Like  a  sea  in  constant  motion ; 
Thanks  for  an  eternal  beam 

Shining  o'er  the  pathless  ocean. 

One  by  one,  although  each  name 

Providence  or  death  will  sever ; 
Jesus  Christ  is  still  the  same, 

Yesterday,  to-day,  forever. 


480 


«J  Shall  to  Satisfied," 

NOT  here ! — not  here !     Not  where  the  sparkling  waters 
Fade  into  mocking  sands  as  we  draw  near: 

Where  in  the  wilderness  each  footstep  falters — 
"  I  shall  be  satisfied  ; "  but  0  !  not  here  ! 

Not  here  where  all  the  dreams  of  bliss  deceive  us, 
Where  the  worn  spirit  never  gains  its  goal ; 

Where,  haunted  ever  by  the  thought  that  grieves  us, 
Across  us  floods  of  bitter  memory  roll. 

There  is  a  land  where  every  pulse  is  thrilling 
With  rapture  earth's  sojourners  may  not  know, 

Where  heaven's  repose  the  weary  heart  is  stilling, 
And  peacefully  life's  time-tossed  currents  flow. 

Far  out  of  sight,  while  yet  the  flesh  infolds  us? 

Lies  the  fair  country  where  our  hearts  abide, 
And  of  its  bliss  is  nought  more  wondrous  told  us 

Than  these  few  words — "  I  shall  be  satisfied." 

Satisfied  !     Satisfied  !     The  spirit's  yearning 
For  sweet  companionship  with  kindred  minds — 

The  silent  love  that  here  meets  no  returning — 
The  inspiration  which  no  language  finds — 

3)  481 


482  J<I    SHALL    BE     SATISFIED.'5* 

Shall  they  be  satisfied  ?     The  soul's  vague  longing  — 
The  aching  void  which  nothing  earthly  fills  ? 

0  !  what  desires  upon  my  soul  are  thronging 
As  I  look  upward  to  the  heavenly  hills. 

Thither  my  weak  and  weary  steps  are  tending — 
Saviour  and  Lord  !  with  thy  frail  child  abide ! 

Guide  me  toward  home,  where  all  my  wandering  ending, 
I  then  shall  see  thee,  and  "  shall  be  satisfied.'1 


ami 


IN  Bethlehem  He  first  arose, 

From  whom  we  draw  cur  true  life's  breath  ; 

And  Golgotha  at  last  He  chose, 

Where  his  cross  broke  the  power  of  death, 

I  wandered  from  the  Western  strand, 

Througa  strange  scenes  of  the  Morning  Land  5 

But  naught  so  great  did  I  survey 

As  Bethlehem  aiid  Golgotha. 

The  ancient  wonders  of  the  world 

Here  rose  aloft,  —  the  mighty  Seven  ;  — 
How  was  their  transient  glory  hurled 
To  earth  before  the  might  of  Heaven  ! 
In  passing,  I  could  see  and  tell 
Hew  all  their  pride  to  ruin  fell  ; 
There  stood  in  quiet  Gloria 
But  Bethlehem  and  Golgotha. 

Cease,  Pyramids  of  Egypt,  cease  ! 

The  toil  that  built  you  never  gave 

The  faintest  thought  of  Death's  great  peace,  — 

'Twas  but  the  darkness  of  a  grave. 

483 


484          BETHLEHEM  AND  GOLGOTHA, 

Ye  Sphinxes,  in  colossal  stone  ! 
The  riddle  Life  an  unread  one 
Ye  left ; —  the  answer  found  its  way 
Through  Bethlehem  and  Golgotha* 

0  Rocknabad,  earth's  Paradise, 

Of  all  Shiraz  the  sweetest  flower ! 
Ye  Indian  sea-coasts,  breathing  spice, 
Where  groves  of  palms  in  beauty  tower  : — 
I  see  o'er  all  your  sunny  plains 
The  step  of  Death  leave  sable  stains. 
Look  up  !     There  comes  a  deathless  ray 
From  Bethlehem  and  Golgotha. 

Thou  Caaba  !  black  stone  of  the  waste, 
At  which  the  feet  of  half  our  line 
Yet  stumble.     Stand,  now,  proudly  braced 
Beneath  thy  crescent's  waning  shine  ! 
The  moon  before  the  sun  grows  dim ; — 
Thou  art  shattered  by  the  sign  of  Him, 
The  conquering  Prince.     "  Victoria !  " 
Shout  Bethlehem  and  Golgotha. 

0  Thou,  who  in  a  shepherd-stable 
An  infant  willingly  hast  lain, 
And  through  the  cross's  pain  wert  able 
To  give  the  victory  over  pain  ! 
To  pride  the  manger  seems  disgrace ; 
The  cross  a  vile,  unworthy  place  ; — 


BETHLEHEM  AND  GOLGOTHA.         48£ 

But  what  shall  bring  this  pride  down  ?     Say  ? 
Tis  Bethlehem  and  Golgotha. 

The  Magi  kings  went  forth  to  see 

The  Shepherd  Stock,  the  Paschal  Lamb ; 
And  to  the  cross  on  Calvary 
The  pilgrimage  of  nations  came. 
Amidst  the  battle's  stormy  toss, 
All  flew  to  splinters — but  the  Cross ; 
As  East  and  West  encamping  lay 
Round  Bethlehem  and  Golgotha. 

0,  march  we  not  in  martial  band, 

But  with  the  Spirit's  flag  unfurled  ! 

Let  us  subdue  the  Holy  Land 

As  Christ  himself  subdued  the  world. 

Let  beams  of  light  on  every  side 

Fly,  like  Apostles,  far  and  wide, 

Till  all  men  catch  the  beams  that  play 

O'er  Bethlehem  and  Golgotha. 

With  pilgrim  staff  and  scallop-shell 

Through  Eastern  climes  I  sought  to  roam ; 
This  counsel  have  I  found  to  tell, 
Brought  from  my  travels  to  my  home  : — 
With  staff  and  scallop  do  not  crave 
To  see  Christ's  cradle  and  his  grave. 
Turn  inward !  there  in  clearest  day 
View  Bethlehem  and  Golgotha. 


486         BETHLEHEM  AND  GOLGOTHA. 

0  heart !  what  helps  it  that  the  knee 
Upon  His  natal  spot  is  bended  ? 
What  helps  it,  reverently  to  see 
•   The  grave  from  which  He  soon  ascended  ? 
Let  Him  within  thee  find  his  birth ; 
And  do  thou  die  to  things  of  earth, 
And  live  Him ; — let  this  be  for  aye 
Thy  Bethlehem  and  Golgotha. 

Ruckert. 


Wlra  0ameth  fwxm 


Who  is  this  that  comctli  from  Edom,  with  dyed  garments  ."rora  Bozrah?  this 
that  is  glorious  in  his  apparel,  traveling  in  the  greatness  of  his  strength  ?  I  that 
speak  in  righteousness,  mighty  to  save. 

Wherefore  art  thou  red  in  thine  apparel,  and  thy  garments  like  him  that  tread- 
eth  in  the  wine-fat  ? 

I  have  trodden  the  wine-press  alone ;  and  of  the  people  there  was  none  with 
me ;  for  I  will  tread  them  in  mine  anger,  and  trample  them  in  my  fury ;  and  their 
blood  shall  be  sprinkled  upon  my  garments,  and  I  will  stain  all  my  raiment. 

For  the  day  of  vengeance  is  in  mine  heart,  and  the  year  of  my  redeemed  is  come. 

And  I  looked,  and  there  was  none  to  help ;  and  I  wondered  that  there  was  nona 
to  uphold,  therefore  mine  own  arm  brought  salvation  unto  me ;  and  my  fury,  it 
upheld  me. 

And  I  will  tread  down  the  people  in  mine  anger,  and  make  them  drank  in  my 
Jury,  and  I  will  bring  down  their  strength  to  the  earth.— ISAIAH  Ixiii,  1-6. 

STRANGE  scene  of  glory !  am  I  well  awake, 

Or  is  't  my  fancy's  wild  mistake  ? 

It  can  not  be  a  dream ;  bright  beams  of  light 

Flow  from  the  visions  fair,  and  pierce  my  tender  sight. 

No  common  vision  this ;  I  see 

Some  marks  of  more  than  human  majesty. 

Who  is  this  mighty  Hero,  who, 

With  glories  round  his  head,  and  terror  in  his  brow  ? 

487 


488  WHO     COMETH    FROM     EDOM? 

From  Bozrah,  lo !     He  comes ;  a  scarlet  dye 
O'erspreads  his  clothes,  and  does  outvie 
The  blushes  of  the  morning  sky. 
Triumphant  and  victorious  He  appears, 
And  honor  in  His  looks  and  habit  wears : 
How  strong  He  treads,  how  stately  does  He  go ! 

Pompous  and  solemn  is  his  pace, 

And  full  of  majesty  as  His  face. 
"Who  is  this  mighty  Hero,  who  ? 

'Tis  I  who  to  my  promise  faithful  stand ; 

I,  who  the  powers  of  death,  hell,  and  the  grave 
Have  foiled  with  this  all-conquering  hand ; 

I,  who  most  ready  am,  and  mighty  too,  to  save. 

Why  wearest  thou,  then,  this  scarlet  dye  ? 
Say,  mighty  Hero,  why  ? 
Why  do  thy  garments  look  all  red, 
Like  them  that  in  the  wine-vat  tread  ? 

The  wine-press  I  alone  have  trod, 
That  vast  unwieldy  frame,  which  long  did  stand 
Unmoved,  and  which  no  mortal  force  could  e'er  command, 
That  ponderous  mass  I  plied  alone, 
And  with  me  to  assist  were  none. 
A  mighty  task  it  was,  worthy  the  Son  of  God ; 
Angels  stood  trembling  at  the  dreadful  sight, 

Concerned  with  what  success  I  should  go  through 
The  work  I  undertook  to  do ; 
I  put  forth  all  my  might, 


WHO     COMETH    FROM     EDOM?  489 

And  down  the  engine  pressed ;  the  violent  force 
Disturbed  the  universe,  put  nature  out  of  course  ; 
The  blood  gushed  out  in  streams,  and  checkered  o'er 
My  garments  with  its  deepest  gore ; 
With  ornamental  drops  bedecked  I  stood, 
And  writ  my  victory  with  my  enemy's  blood. 

The  day,  the  signal  day  is  come 
When  of  my  enemies  I  must  vengeance  take  ; 

The  day  when  Death  shall  have  its  doom, 
And  the  dark  kingdom  with  its  powers  shall  shake. 
Fate  in  her  calendar  marked  out  this  day  with  red, 
She  folded  down  the  iron  leaf,  and  thus  she  said : 
"  This  day,  if  aught  I  can  divine  be  true, 
Shall,  for  a  signal  victory, 
Be  celebrated  to  posterity : 
Then  shall  the  Prince  of  Light  descend, 
And  rescue  mortals  from  th'  infernal  fiend ; 
Break  through  his  strongest  forts,  and  all  his  hosts  subdue." 
This  said,  she  shut  the  adamantine  volume  close, 
And  wished  she  might  the  crowding  year  transpose ; 
So  much  she  longed  to  have  the  scene  display, 
And  see  the  vast  event  of  this  important  day. 

And  now  in  midst  of  the  revolving  years, 

This  great,  this  mighty  One  appears : 

The  faithful  traveler,  the  sun, 

Has  numbered  out  the  days,  and  the  set  period  run. 

I  looked,  and  to  assist  was  none  ; 

My  angelic  guards  stood  trembling  by, 

But  durst  not  venture  nigh. 


490  WHO     COMETH     FROM     EDOM  ? 

In  vain,  too,  from  my  Father  did  I  look 
For  help ;  my  Father  me  forsook. 

Amazed  I  was  to  see, 

How  all  deserted  me, 
I  took  my  fury  for  my  sole  support, 
And  with  my  single  arm  the  conquest  won. 
Loud  acclamations  filled  all  heaven's  courts 

The  hymning  guards  above, 

Strained  to  an  higher  pitch  of  joy  and  love, 
The  great  Jehovah  praised,  and  his  victorious  Son. 

John  Norri*, 


Sister  xxf 

"  The  master  is  come,  and  calleth  for  thee." — JOHN  xi.  28. 

A.  SISTER  in  anguish  lamented  the  loved, 

And  tears  of  affliction  streamed  fast  from  her  eyes, 
As  she  bowed  'neath  the  rod  of  the  chastener,  and  proved 

That  those  blessings  fly  fast  which  most  fondly  we  prize. 
She  mused  on  his  virtues,  his  kindness,  his  truth  •, 

On  the  love  that  was  borne  her,  so  fervent  and  high, 
By  the  playmate  of  childhood,  companion  of  youth, 

Thus  called,  in  the  fresh  bloom  of  vigour,  to  die ! 
And  her  burdened  heart  sunk  in  the  darkness  of  woe, 
As  the  fond  sister  mourned  for  the  cherished  laid  low. 

But  listen !  a  voice  by  the  mourner  is  heard, 

Whose  tones  send  the  music  of  peace  to  her  soul, — 
The  loud  sobs  of  anguish  are  calmed  at  a  word, 

And  the  tear-drops  no  longer  in  bitterness  roll — 
Hope  breaks  through  the  gloom  that  enshrouds  her  sad  heart, 

And  her  bosom  expands  with  a  rapturous  glow- 
Firm  faith  and  full  trust,  their  best  comforts  impart 

As  she  hears  from  the  lips  of  the  messenger  flow 
Sweet  tidings  to  bid  her  deep  agony  flee— 

"  The  Master  is  come,  and  he  calleth  for  thee." 

491 


492  THE    SISTEE    OF    LAZARUS. 

So,  Christian  !  though  gloomy  and  sad  be  thy  days, 

And  the  tempests  of  sorrow  encompass  thee  black ; 
Though  no  sunshine  of  promise  or  hope  sheds  its  rays 

To  illumine  and  cheer  thy  life's  desolate  track : 
Though  thy  soul  writhes  in  anguish,  and  bitter  tears  flow 

O'er  the  wreck  of  fond  joys  from  thy  bleeding  heart  riven, 
Check  thy  sorrowing  murmurs,  thou  lorn  one,  and  know 

That  the  chastened  on  earth  are  the  purest  for  Heaven : 
And  remember,  though  gloomy  the  present  may  bo, 
That  the  Master  is  coming — and  coming  to  thee. 

S.  D.  Patterson. 


The  Utagiettd  of 

Her  sins  arc  forgiven  her,  for  she  loved  much. 

'T  WAS  within  a  Hebrew  palace, 

At  a  Hebrew  ruler's  board, 
From  her  alabaster  chalice 

Magdalen  the  ointment  poured. 
Flowed  the  precious  perfume,  filling 

All  the  air  with  odors  sweet ; 
But,  from  Mary's  eyes  distilling, 

Poured  an  offering  far  more  meet, 
Even  than  the  costly  ointment, 

For  the  worn  and  weary  feet 
Of  the  Blessed  Lord. 

Humbly  weeping,  humbly  loving, 

Meek  she  kneeled  beside  Him  there : 
Tears  and  perfume  both  removing 

With  her  soft  and  clustering  hair. 
But  there  wakened  thoughts  of  evil 

In  the  minds  of  the  Eleven ; 
And  the  first  to  scorn  or  cavil 

Spake  the  traitor — cursed  of  Heaven : — 

493 


494  LEGEND     OF    MARY    MAGDALEN. 

"  How  much  better  were  this  ointment 
"  Vended,  and  the  money  given 
"  For  the  poor  to  share !  " 


Tims  Iscariot  reproved  her, 

Thinking,  "  'T would  my  store  increase: 
But  when  JESU  looked,  He  loved  her, 

And  He  bade  their  murmurs  cease ; 
Saying,  «  Not  for  her  preferment 

Doth  she  here  before  Me  bow, 
But  it  is  for  mine  interment 

That  she  thus  anoints  Me  now." 
Then  he  uttered,  turning  toward  her 

That  divine  and  gentle  brow', 
"  Mary,  go  in  peace !  " 

Who  doth  love  shall  be  forgiven ; 

HE  hath  mercy  still  in  store, 
tlE  hath  boundless  power  in  Heaven 

Whom  the  cross  on  Calvary  bore. 
Earthly  love  may  fail  to  ease  you 

When  you  bend  in  your  despair, 
But  the  gentle  heart  of  JESU 

Ttirncth  never  from  a  prayer. 
To  the  asker  all  is  granted ; 

He  who  seeketh  findeth  there 
Rest  for  evermore. 


LEGEND     OP     MARY     MAGDALEN. 


495 


Lamb  of  GOD  !    Our  Priest  and  Pastor, 

Who  canst  bid  all  evil  cease, 
Ever  dear  and  holy  Master, 

Make  our  feeble  love  increase ! 
So  that  when  we  seek  Thee,  owning 

That  Thy  wrath  is  our  deserts, 
Thou,  blest  Lord,  at  whose  atonement 

All  iniquity  departs, 
Mayest  speak  from  thine  enthronement 

To  our  rent  and  wearied  hearts, 
"  Sinner,  go  in  peace ! " 

C.  Donald  H'Leod 


Wamat*  xxf  Samaria* 


OH  !  woman  of  olden  Samaria  !  tell 
What  the  stranger  of  Galilee  said  at  the  well, 
When  he  paused  and  sat  down  all  alone  by  the  way 
With  his  holy  lips  parched,  like  the  summer-dried  clay, 

"  I  will  tell  you  the  words  of  the  sage  that  I  saw, 
When  I  went  to  the  well  the  bright  waters  to  draw, 
Where  the  stones  are  all  mossy  and  green  at  the  side, 
And  the  life  cheering  drops  so  delightfully  glide. 

"  Alone  with  my  jar,  ere  the  blaze  of  high  noon, 
With  a  caroling  voice,  and  my  feet  all  unshoon, 
I  leisurely  sought  for  a  draught  of  that  wave, 
Which  the  wisdom  of  Jacob  our  forefathers  gave. 

"  At  the  verge  of  the  fountain  I  stood,  and,  behold, 
In  silence  there  sate,  with  his  garments  in  fold, 
A  Hebrew  appareled  in  seamless  attire, 
Whose  presence  did  reverence  deeply  inspire. 

"  He  asked  for  a  drink  from  the  pitcher  I  bore, 
Of  that  cool  well  of  Jacob,  delicious  and  pure  ; 
And  I  gave  it  unready,  yet  gave  it  at  last, 
When  the  spell  of  his  spirit  had  over  me  passed. 


496 


THE     WOMAN     OF    SAMARIA.  497 

"  He  told  then  of  waters  that  flowed  for  the  soul, 
From  the  rivers  of  life  that  unceasingly  roll, 
Gushing  freely  for  all  that  would  seek  them  in  awe, 
With  faith  in  the  might  of  the  Lord  and  his  Law. 

"  He  said  that  salvation  was  born  of  the  Jews, 
With  a  blessed  Messiah  to  love  and  to  choose, 
Whose  feet  with  the  brightness  of  Virtue  were  shod, 
While  Righteousness  rose  in  the  path  that  he  trod. 

"  He  said  in  these  mountains  our  worship  should  cease, 

And  Jerusalem's  glory  forget  to  increase  ; — 

That  GOD  was  a  spirit  to  love  and  adore, 

Whom  in  spirit  and  truth  we  must  seek  and  implore. 

v 

"  And,  with  countenance  looking  celestially  calm, 
Whence  holiness  beamed  with  a  soul-given  charm, 
He  said  that  himself  was  Messiah,  foretold 
By  the  Patriarchs,  Seers,  and  the  Prophets  of  old ! 

"  Oh !  beautiful  sight,  on  those  features  to  gaze, 

As  the  holy  announcement  came  forth,  like  the  blaze 

Of  the  horizon  lights,  to  the  zenith  unfurled, 

For  the  wonder  and  love  of  the  sky-viewing  world ! 

He  told  me  of  things  that  I  deemed  were  unknown, 

Save  unto  myself,  and  my  chosen  alone ; 

And  all  that  I  knew  he  perused  in  my  soul, 

As  it  bowed  to  his  will,  and  confessed  his  control. 


498  THE    WOMAN    OF    SAMARIA. 

u  <  A  Prophet !  a  Prophet ! '  I  uttered  amazed ; 
Our  God  for  his  people  a  Prophet  hath  raised ! — 
An  angel  hath  come  from  the  light  of  his  throne, 
The  Messiah  at  last  to  the  world  to  make  known, 

"  O'erawed  by  his  words,  from  his  presence  I  turned, 
With  my  heart  full  of  thought,  as  it  fluttered  and  burned 
With  the  weight  of  the  marvels  I  heard  and  I  saw, 
By  that  fountain  whose  waters  I  wandered  to  draw, 

"  Thus — thus  have  I  told  what  so  lately  befell 

My  wondering  soul  at  the  Patriarch's  well ; 

Where  the  waters,  though  sweet,  as  the  wayfarer  sips, 

Yet  sweeter  the  words  of  that  bright  Stranger's  lips  1" 

Thank  thee,  oh !  thank  thee,  Samarian  friend ! 
For  the  God-light  that  did  to  thy  vision  descend — 
For  the  words  that  thy  spirit  remembered  and  told, 
And  the  sacred  delight  they  for  ever  unfold  ! 

Thomas  Cr*  Spear* 


The  letter 


But  now  they  desire  a  better  country,  that  is,  an  heavenly.  —  HEBREWS  xi.  16. 

I  HEAR  thee  speak  of  the  better  land, 
Thou  call'st  its  children  a  happy  band  ; 
Mother  !  Oh  where  is  that  radiant  shore,  — 
Shall  we  not  seek  it  and  weep  no  more  ? 
Is  it  where  the  flower  of  the  orange  blows, 
And  the  fire-flies  dance  through  the  myrtle  boughs  ? 
"  Not  there,  not  there,  my  child." 

Is  it  where  the  feathery  palm  trees  rise, 
And  the  date  grows  ripe  under  sunny  skies, 
Or  midst  the  green  island  of  glittering  seas, 
Where  fragrant  forests  perfume  the  breeze, 
And  strange  bright  birds,  on  their  starry  wings, 
Bear  the  rich  hues  of  all  glorious  things  ? 
"  Not  there,  not  there,  my  child." 

Is  it  far  away,  in  some  region  old, 
Where  the  rivers  wander  o'er  sands  of  gold  — 
Where  the  burning  rays  of  the  ruby  shine, 
And  the  diamond  lights  up  the  secret  mine, 

499 


500  THE     BETTER     LAND. 

And  the  pearl  gleams  forth  from  the  coral  strand — 
Is  it  there,  sweet  mother,  that  better  land  ? 
"  Not  there,  not  there,  my  child. 

Eye  hath  not  seen  it,  my  gentle  boy ! 
Ear  hath  not  heard  its  deep  songs  of  joy, 
Dreams  can  not  picture  a  world  so  fair, 
Sorrow  and  death  may  not  enter  there  ; 
Time  doth  not  breathe  on  its  fadeless  bloom, 
For  beyond  the  clouds,  and  beyond  the  tomb, 
It  is  there,  it  is  there,  my  child ! " 

Felicia  Remans. 


14  DAY  USE 

RETURN  TO  DESK  FROM  WHICH  BORROWED 

LOAN  DEPT. 

This  book  is  due  on  the  last  date  stamped  below,  or 

on  the  date  to  which  renewed. 
Renewed  books  are  subject  to  immediate  recall. 


MAY  2  6  1966  2  4 

• 

JUN5    '6612RC 


LD  21A-60m-10,'65 
(F7763slO)476B 


General  Library 

University  of  California 

Berkeley 


HI 


I 


